A Most Interesting Eighth Year
by pinkminxx
Summary: Hermione and her friends return to Hogwarts to finish their education. The aftermath of the war has left many scarred, including Hermione, figuratively and literally. They don't expect any Slytherins to return, but ones does, and when forced to interact with him, it causes Hermione to finally come to terms with the past year. Will Romance blossom?
1. Return to Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: **I did not create these characters or settings. All credit to the lovely J.

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Chapter One

Hermione Granger looked in the mirror. She was already wearing her Hogwarts robes, and she gave her outfit a cursory look, to ensure that all was tucked in and buttoned properly. After a few deep breaths, she decided to join the remaining Weasleys and Harry Potter at the breakfast table.

It was the morning of October 31st, and they'd soon be headed to King's Cross station. It was indeed odd that school was starting so late, but even with magic, repairing the damage to Hogwarts after the war took quite some time. Hermione had begun to give up the hope that she'd ever be able to finish her magical education, when they all recieved their Hogwart's letter; she, Ron and Harry were being invited back, along with many others, as "Eighth Years."

"Hermione, I thought you were going to miss breakfast! Hurry and tuck in! We haven't got much time left," chimed Mrs. Weasley as Hermione entered the kitchen, filling the seat between Ron and Harry.

"Ready to get back to the library, Hermione?" Ron joked.

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied weakly.

She did miss the library, and was certainly ready to get back to it, but for the first time in her life, Hermione wasn't exactly looking forward to the first day of school

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry prodded. "Are you nervous?"

"No, no, of course not. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Ah, I'm sure bookworm here couldn't put down her textbooks, preparing for class." Ron guffawed.

"Yes, yes I was up late reading." Hermione grabbed onto the excuse presented to her, nodding a little to enthusiastically, but given her love of books and schooling, no one seemed to notice.

Truthfully, Hermione had been up late packing and re-packing. Organizing all of her books, notes, and clothes. Yes, Hermione had already made notes for some of her classes. She had cleaned the room she was staying in - the room that used to be Fred and George's, before they'd moved out - three times. All the while, she had nervously pulled on her left sleeve, and occasionally gently stroking her arm. Through the thin fabric of her pajamas, she could even feel the scarred words that now marred what used to be pristine porcelain flesh. She thought that perhaps, after Bellatrix's death, she would be able to truly mend the scar, cause it to fade away, or remove it altogether, but she had none such luck. The magic that her torturer had used was intended to leave a permanent scar, so a permanent scar she would have. Even the healers at St. Mungo's hadn't been able to help - though they were quite preoccupied after the war, nursing more serious injuries than hers.

After the war, they had all felt every emotion possible; elation, exhaustion, joy, sorrow, pain, fear that had not yet lapsed, disbelief, and triumph. The following weeks were a blur of sleep and parties, mourning and mending. Collecting their shattered lives and attempting to make them whole again, but some things could never be replaced.

Lupin and Tonks' funeral had been heartbreaking. What was worse was seeing little Teddy Lupin, who was not yet old enough to walk or talk, and clearly did not quite know what was going on. Since then, his custody had turned to Harry, and though Harry loved his godson dearly, he had decided to part with him while he finished his education, leaving him in the care of Bill and Fleur, who were very much in the family way.

Fred's funeral had been another tragedy. On-lookers could see the resemblance between how the Weasley clan had stood over his body during the Battle of Hogwarts, when the fallen had been brought to the Great Hall, and how they stood then, over the coffin, at his funeral. George had yet to really come back to his old self. Lee Jordan had taken over Fred's position in the business, and they all hoped that not only being around a joke shop, but being around his best friend would start to lift his spirits.

While Hermione had found this all truly devastating, there was one personal tragedy that had taken the cake, and that was the fate of her parents. After the war, Hermione went to Australia to reverse the memory charm, but it hadn't worked. She panicked and tried several more times before bringing in an expert from St. Mungo's. After several days of trying to reverse the spell, as well as dealing with a very perplexed Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who could not understand why this young woman and old man kept visiting their homes and speaking strange Latin phrases to them, the healer had pronounced that they were irretrievable. He could not say whether Hermione's spell had been so perfectly executed that their memories of her had been completely wiped, or that the spell had gone wrong, but either way, she had lost her parents.

It had been a very difficult few months for everyone, and so the Weasley's, Hermione, and Harry had thrown themselves into the War Relief Effort, helping to restore order and calm to the Wizarding World. Harry and Ron had volunteered at the ministry, helping to rebuild the diminished Auror squad. Mr. Weasley, Percy, and George had helped with the election for the new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, as well as rebuilding the departments. Molly and Ginny had volunteered at St. Mungo's, helping to nurse the simpler wounds, as well as acting as Welcome Witches. Hermione had returned to Hogwarts, assisting the professors in rebuilding their beloved school through very complicated spells, and a lot of organization and research. It didn't look good from the outset, but as time progressed, Hogwarts began to look as it should. After that, she had to wait, and hope that the Ministry and the professors could orchestrate the reopening.

Hermione mused over all of the events that had taken place over the last few months, spacing out at the breakfast table.

"Earth to Hermione," Harry said softly to her.

"Wha- oh, Harry, I'm sorry. Were you talking to me? I completely zoned out! I was just thinking about all that's happened, and how school will be an-" Harry cut her off.

"Hermione, it's alright. I just wanted to know if you were okay. You seem rather, nervous. Are you sure you're ready to go back to school?"

"Yes, of course I'm ready. I have to finish my magical education, afterall. It's what, it's what Mum an-and Dad would've wanted. The-they would have wanted me to graduate."

Harry looked at her pensively, before deciding how to respond. Hermione could see him thinking.  
"Alright, 'Mione, if you're sure. I just don't want you to get stressed out at school, you've been through too much recently."  
"I know Harry. We all have."

They all apparated - side-along or otherwise to King's Cross with five minutes to spare. Quickly stowing their luggage on the train, they came back out to say goodbye to Mrs. Weasley.

"Goodbye, Mum!" chorused Ron and Ginny.

"Goodbye Molly, thank you for everything these last few months," said Harry, embracing her like a second mother.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you so much for letting me stay with you." Hermione said quite tentatively.

Ron and Hermione had broken up very quickly after they'd started. The stress of the post-war life they were living was not particularly conducive to romance. This had put a strain on Molly and Hermione's relationship. The tension had only lifted when Hermione had found out about her parents. Even so, Hermione felt slightly nervous around Mrs. Weasley now.

"Oh dear, I've told you to call me Molly," she admonished gently, while pulling Hermione into an embrace.

"Hmm," Hermione mused to herself, as they boarded the train "perhaps she doesn't hold it against me after all..."

"I'll see you all at Christmas!" Mrs. Weasley called as they stuck their heads out of the windows.

"Goodbye!" They all called as they waved at her.

As they settled into their compartment, talk turned to who would be returning with them as Eighth years.  
"Well," began Ginny, "we know Neville's out, he was here last year. And even though she's in my year, Luna's coming back to redo 6th, she missed so much of it last year, when she was-"

"Yes, who else?" Harry broke through, looking nervously at Hermione.

Over the past few months, Harry had begun to realize that any mention of Malfoy Manor caused Hermione to become quite upset. Hermione had told him that what she had was often diagnosed in the Muggle world as 'PTSD,' or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She had also said that she would have anxiety or panic attacks. Even growing up in the muggle world, Harry wasn't quite sure what all this meant, but he knew that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"There aren't a lot of us left, to be honest" said Ron quietly, "not a lot in Gryffindor, anyway."

He was right, Lavender had been killed in the Battle, as had both of the Patil twins, though only one was a Gryffindor.

"Seamus graduated last year," said Hermione, "oh we really are running out of people, aren't we?"

"Well, we know that Crabbe and Goyle aren't coming back, as their dead." said Harry, rather tentatively, as though he wasn't trying to sound too pleased.

"Pansy wouldn't dare show her face here again," laughed Ginny, "not after what she tried to pull at the battle."

"I doubt we'll be seeing any Slytherins," said Ron confidently.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said a new voice, a voice that Hermione instantly recognized. "I," the voice continued, "am returning to Hogwarts."

Hermione stared in horror as she saw Malfoy standing at the door to their compartment. Her breathing became labored, and she clutched her scarred arm before she passed out.

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So this is my first fic, as such, I am eager to receive constructive criticism! Please read and review!


	2. Train Ride

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter!

**Author's Note: **I'm surprised that I'm uploading two chapters in two days. I hope you all enjoy this one as much as the last. I realize that it's moving a little slowly now, but I need to put in the "background" information and build things up before the plot can really get going. I hope from here on in it will be a little more action-y and a little less reminiscing-y!

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**Chapter Two**

"Hermione!" yelled the two Weasleys and Harry.

Malfoy stared at the witch now face down on the floor, forgetting himself, he stepped forward.

"Shove off, Malfoy!" Said Harry rather aggressively, pushing him out of the compartment, and sliding the door shut.

Ron had already lifted Hermione onto the seat, and with an "enervate" from Ginny, she was brought back to consciousness.

Harry rushed towards her, and placing his hands on her shoulders, and crouching before her, he asked "Hermione, do you think you can do this? Do you think you can go to school with him here? I know he reminds you of, well, you know."

She brushed him off, "Yes, I'll be fine, I just need to, uh, get my head together. I need to get over it. I can't have fainting fits just because he-he's related t-to, to her." Her voice shook and Harry looked at her with extreme disbelief, but she was determined.

For the next few minutes, Ginny, Ron, and Harry kept giving her sidelong glances when they thought she wasn't looking.

"Now really, I'm fine. Please just stop staring? Who else is coming back this year?"

Ginny sighed, before resuming her bubbly chatter. "Well, let's see, in Hufflepuff I think Justin Finch-Fletchly is coming back, but not Ernie MacMillan, he was here last year. So was Hannah Abbott."

"Oy," said Ron "We forgot about Dean Thomas, he should be coming back shouldn't he? He spent half the year running from the snatchers, yeah?"

"Yeah," continued Harry. "I wonder where Luna and him are? You'd think they would've come to say hello."

Just then, they heard a rapping on the compartment door.

"Speak of the devil!" cried Ginny, as she quickly made to get the door.

"Oh. Hello everyone!" Luna said serenely, while she drifted in and sat down next to Harry.

"Hey, nice to see you guys," said Dean as he came in and shook hands with Ron and Harry. "Ready to go back to Hogwarts?"  
They all nodded eagerly, but their eyes drifted towards Hermione.

"What's wrong with Hermione? Doesn't she love books anymore?" Luna cooed as she followed their line of sight.

"Uh, no, of course Hermione still love books-" started Harry, but Hermione cut him off.

"I'm very happy to be going back to school, I just don't feel very well today," she reassured the airy blonde.

"Oh. You probably have a flock of-"

At that moment, Hermione tuned Luna out. She did not need someone to tell her she had a flock of magical, and imaginary, creatures making her feel they way she did. She knew very well that it was a certain other blonde that had illicited her reaction.

Her memories drifted back to her experience at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix had laughed as she had carved Mudblood into her arm. Malfoy - Draco, that is - just stood there, staring at them. He hadn't laughed, he hadn't even smiled, but he didn't try to help her either... not that she'd expected it. In fact, now that she considered it, he'd looked mildly horrified and kind of unwell at the sight of her and his aunt. She knew that Malfoy and his mother had officially been given pardon by the Ministry - Malfoy very well couldn't have come back to Hogwarts if he hadn't been - but she still didn't trust him. And she definitely didn't forgive him. It was people like him and his father who had caused the war. People with hate towards anyone different, anyone who wasn't, by their definition, "pure."

Hermione was only roused from her musings when the topic of conversation changed abruptly to the sleeping arrangements of the eighth years.

"Wait, what?" she cried, alarmed.

Ron answered, "we were just wondering where they'd be keeping us. There won't be enough room in the Gryffindor tower."

"Hmm, well maybe they'll have built a special area for us." Harry said thoughtfully.

"Oh Harry, they won't have gone to all that trouble just for the few of us," said Hermione brusquely. "I can't believe I don't know this actually, given that I help them restore the castle and everything."

"I don't know," said Ginny. "With magic, a lot is possible, and the Head Boy and Girl have special chambers. I wouldn't be surprised if they did the same for you guys. Especially seeing as you're all war heroes. Harry is the chosen one, for Godric's sake!"

"You may have a point there," said Ron excitedly, "at least, I hope you do!"

The following minutes were spent in comfortable silence, all of the eighth years imagining what kind of quarters they'd get upon their arrival. Luna and Ginny seemed a little put out, probably owing to the fact that they were probably imagining the eighth years living in splendor, while they were stuck in their boring old dormitories.

The silence was broken by Ginny, telling everyone except Hermione that they'd better put on their robes, as they were getting close to their destination.

The rest of their journey was full of excitement. Everyone, particularly Ron, was looking forward to the feast. It promised to be a spectacular one, as it was not only the first day of school, but Halloween and the grand reopening of Hogwarts. They could just imagine how grand it would be, as the train slowed to a stop.

Draco sat alone in an empty compartment, mulling over what had just happened. Granger had fainted - _fainted_ because of his appearance. He wondered what it could be about. Well, that wasn't true at all, actually. He knew exactly what it was about, but he very much wished that he didn't. He wished that he could sit wondering what had gotten that mudbl-, that young witch so upset. He mentally kicked himself. He promised himself that he'd stop using _that_ word. No one would ever leave him or his mother alone if he didn't. They'd think that he was just the same, just the same as him. And whether or not he hated mud-, er, muggle-borns, he wanted everyone to just forget. He and his mother weren't the same as _him. _

The 'him' that Draco thought of with such disgust and disdain was not Lord Voldemort, it was his father. His father who had caused him and his mother so much pain. His father who was responsible for having the Dark Lord living in his home, defiling the fine Manor. Murdering people in it. Using it as a prison and a torture chamber.

Malfoy may have hated mudbloods - dammit, muggle borns, and he may not care if other people hurt them, or killed them, it's not like he was friends with anyone. He just didn't like it happening in his own house. He didn't like seeing his own family do it, in front of him no less. He thought back to that day when his aunt had carved 'mudblood' into Granger's arm. That was one of the moments when his belief in his side started to falter. The first moment was when Professor Burbage was killed on his dining room table, and eaten by Nagini. That was just unhygenic. But nevermind.

He thought back to Hermione's face when she'd heard his voice, her eyes had grown to the size of saucers before they'd rolled back into her head, as she slumped to the floor. For some reason it had unnerved him. This realization did not sit well with young Mr. Malfoy, he didn't want to be bothered by the fact that a mudb-, that Granger reacted so badly to him. In fact, a little over a year ago, he would've welcomed it.

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please read and review!


	3. Of Feasts and Living Arrangements

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the Harry Potter universe.

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**Chapter Three**

Hermione welcomed the distraction of the hustle and bustle of de-training and filing into the Great Hall.

"Oh, this feast is gonna be good." Ron moaned, smelling the air that was rich with the scent of delicious food.

Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes at him and stifled amused smiles. Luna drifted off towards the Ravenclaw table, uttering a soft goodbye as she went, as the rest of them sat down at the familiar Gryffindor table, happy to finally be 'home.'

"Greetings to you all!" Opened Professor Minerva McGonagall, now the Headmistress of the school.

"I welcome you back to another year at Hogwarts. Thank you for your patience regarding our late start. The damage from the battle, as many of you know, was quite extensive. It is with great happiness that I am able to re-open the school, especially since we are now free of last year's turmoil. Now, without further ado, I invite you all to tuck in to our extraordinary feast."

With that, the gold plates filled with food, and the goblets filled with pumpkin juice. Everyone seemed ravenous, despite the fact that only hours ago they'd been gorging themselves on sweets from the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. Everyone, that is, except two.

Hermione picked at her food, rolling her boiled potatoes around her plate with her fork.

"'Ermione, why don' chu eat somfin'" said Ron, thickly, through a mouthful of roast chicken.

"I don't feel very hungry right now." she replied, rubbing her stomach, as though that would calm the nervous, twisting feelings that currently dwelt there.

"You really should eat, Hermione," said Harry. "It's excellent food, I promise." He grinned at her, and she smiled back weakly.

"Look, I know you've been through the mill, and I know that you've had quite the day, but you'll feel loads better once you've had a square meal. You've barely eaten a thing today."

"Yeah Hermione," nodded Ginny, "besides, you're letting what happened eat up your life. That's only letting them win."

"Ginny!" Admonished Harry.

"No, Harry, Ginny's right. I'm letting memories of all that's happened in the past ruin my present, and I shouldn't. I won't let them ruin my last year at Hogwarts. Besides, it will effect my studying! I still want to graduate top of the class!"

At that, Ginny, Ron, and Harry burst into snickering laughter, and before she knew it, Hermione was laughing along with them. She headed Harry's advice, and much to her surprise, a solid meal did help. She felt warm, full, and sleepy. She felt content. They were back at Hogwarts and she was safe. Bellatrix was dead, Voldemort was dead. The people that had haunted her nightmares couldn't touch her any longer, and she was determined to overcome their lingering mental hold.

On the other side of the Great Hall, a certain Blonde was also pushing his food around his plate. Contrary to Hermione, however, Draco Malfoy didn't have anyone to encourage him to eat. He didn't have anyone to tell him to forget the past and embrace the future. He truly had no one, save for his mother back at home, who gave a damn about him at all, and looking at the Gryffindor table, seeing the Golden Trio and their hangers-on, something inside him began to ache.

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As the feast drew to a close, McGonagall stood up once more to address the students. "I assume you've all had your fill of our excellent food," she began.

Malfoy glowered up at her, he had certainly not had his fill. He was oscillating between starving and nausea. Maybe he'd convince a house elf to bring him some food later on in the night.

"There are many announcements that I need to deliver, as well as introduce you to some of our new staff, but I think that can all wait until tomorrow. It's been a long day, and I'm sure you're all eager to retire to your beds. So, students from first year through to seventh may head to your dormitories. First years, find the prefects from your house, and they'll show you where to go. Eighth years, please stay behind so I may show you all to your new lodgings."

Draco growled. He couldn't imagine where they'd put him, the sole eighth year Slytherin. If they all had their way, they'd probably lock him in some sort of cell, with nothing but a cot and a bed pan. His eyes travelled to the other eighth years who were approaching the front of the room and, rather reluctantly, he followed them.

Ginny had taken her time saying goodbye to Harry, and it had seemed awkward and forced to Hermione. They had gotten back together, since the threat of Voldemort had gone from the world, but it didn't seem quite as natural as it had before, Harry had pulled away from Ginny's goodbye kiss too quickly, for example. Hermione mulled this over in her mind as they made their way to the front of the room, and as she approached McGonagall, her thoughts changed to what their new lodgings would be.

"Ah, welcome back eighth years," said McGonagall cheerily. "Now, let's make sure everyone's here. There will be no Ravenclaws in your year, as they all insisted on taking their exams last year."

As she said this, her eyes sparkled with amusement. It was well known that Ravenclaws were avid studiers. Hermione smiled, she wasn't surprised that they hadn't let the war get in the way of their education.

"From Hufflepuff we have Mr. Finch-Fletchly and Miss Bones, correct?"

"Yes Headmistress!" Chimed both Justin and Susan, and the others turned to look, having not noticed their quite presence.

"From Gryffindor," she continued, "we have Mr. Thomas, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, and," she paused to smile warmly, "Miss Granger."

Malfoy scoffed. Typical, he thought. Granger was already best friends with the headmistress, not that she hadn't been close to McGonagall before, but her teacher's pet tendencies irked him.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she turned to Malfoy, having heard his sound of derision, but thankfully for him, she chose to ignore it.

"And, from Slytherin, we have Mr. Malfoy.

The Gryffindor men turned to look at him, regarding him apprehensively. They seemed to have formed a protective grouping around Hermione, who was doing her best to ignore him by staring at the ceiling rather obviously.

"Right, now, I hope you're all prepared to get to know each other." McGonagall said rather sternly, seemingly noticing the tension in the air.

"Well, now as there isn't an extra set of dormitories for eighth years, we've had to do some modifications, and in a way, create a place for you all to live."

"Yes!" cried Ron. "Ginny was right, Harry, we'll get special war hero chambers!"

"No, Mr. Weasley, you will not exactly be getting 'special war hero chambers'"

Ron's face fell, and Malfoy chortled.

"Do you have a problem, ferret?" said Ron rather aggressively.

"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure did not mean any offense. He would know better than to alienate himself from the group that he'll be living with."

"That he'll be living with?" repeated Harry in confusion and disbelief. "What exactly do you mean, prof- er, Headmistress?"

"Yes, well, as there aren't any seventh year Slytherins this year. We've made some modifications to their living area, and have added a common room. You cannot access the Slytherin common room, or other Slytherin bedchambers from your new home, and it has a different access point, on the first floor instead of in the dungeons."

McGonagall had barely gotten this out before the uproar began. Hermione's face had gone bright red, and she had emitted a high-pitched squeaking sound. Ron had shouted something rude, and Harry was just staring straight ahead, a look of mingled confusion and fury on his face. The two Hufflepuffs were standing very close to one another, looking between the Gryffindors and the lone Slytherin with concern. The two houses were established rivals, and it seemed to them that the animosity still remained.

Draco's reaction had been to splutter and choke, much like someone who had almost drowned, but had been pulled out at the last minute.

"Professor," Draco began "I don't think-"

"Mr. Malfoy, I know what you are about to say, but I have decided that you all living together will be for the best. As eighth years, as well as war veterans, many of the younger students look up to you all. As such, I see no better occasion than this to lead by example and show them that you have all taken the lessons of the war to heart. Malfoy, your family was, regrettably, involved in the," she paused, searching for an appropriate phrase "the opposing side. Mr. Potter, as well as the others, were very much your enemies. If you cannot put these differences behind you, and learn to coexist peacefully, then I'll have to conclude that you learned nothing from the past few years."

Ron and Harry hung their heads, perhaps ashamed for reacting so badly, and for not doing the Gryffindor thing and "taking the lessons of the war to heart."

Malfoy's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he tuned the remaining conversation out, only stirring when everyone started to head out of the Great Hall.

Hermione was trying to keep her breathing in check. Her body was reacting in terror to living with the nephew of her, but her mind was telling her to grow up. She hated this struggle - the battle between heart and mind that she'd been fighting since the end of the war. Mentally, she wanted to overcome her issues, but her heart just kept fluttering, full of fear and anxiety. She was not looking forward to the rest of this year.

Hermione glanced over at Malfoy, and to her surprise, he looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Perhaps she should have expected it, she did know that Malfoy didn't have any friends here, and she'd read in the Daily Prophet about Malfoy's fathers recent, for lack of a better word, execution. Hermione wondered where Draco's father was now. Was he at home with Narcissa? Was he in St. Mungos? What, exactly, did they do with people who had been given the Dementor's Kiss? These thoughts occupied her as they all followed McGonagall down the corridor that lead away from the Great Hall.

The finally stopped in front of the statue of a dwarf, Boldolov the Brave.

"Your password for this month will be 'Harmony,' and I would like you to think about what that means, while you adjust to your new living situations. Now, I wish you all a good night, and I hope you settle in soon, I know that this is different, but as I said before, I believe that it's for the best."

With that, the headmistress walked away, and headed towards her own chambers. The 7 students stood in front of the statue, trying to figure out what to make of their new situation before Harry said to the statue of the dwarf "Well, uh, harmony?"


	4. First Night

**Chapter Three**

Hermione found the rest of the evening almost unbearable, even though she didn't see Malfoy for the rest of the night.

Compared to how Hermione remembered the Gryffindor dorms, theses new rooms were quite different. When you stepped through the door, once Boldolov the Brave had stepped aside, you were in the common room. Straight ahead, on the back wall there was a large fireplace, larger than the one in the Gryffindor common room. It was grander, somehow; more stately. The surrounding room had two couches, made of black leather, and several squishy armchairs, made of a textured faded black fabric. The carpet was predominantly black, with gold and silver designs that looped around each other.

Hermione was surprised to find that all this black wasn't depressing, it seemed sophisticated and understated, not dark and gloomy. The light from the wooden chandelier, as well as the light radiating from the fire made it seem warm and homey, as opposed to cold and dreary. She missed the comfort of the red of Gryffindor, but with three of the four houses represented, she supposed that they could hardly pick any colours associated with a singular house for the common area.

Standing in the common room, you could see two doors, that were exactly opposite from each other in the room. One was labeled "Gentlemen" and the other, "Ladies."

After getting her bearings, Hermione sequestered herself away in her new dorm room - a two person room, as she and Susan were the only females.

Hermione found their dorm to be much nicer than she had expected. There were two four poster beds on either side of their room, one had red bedding and hangings, and the other yellow. She supposed that this was to make them feel more at home. They also had a desk each, and a private washroom.

Hermione was barely sitting down on her bed when Susan walked in.

"Hello, Hermione," she said kindly.

"Hello Susan," Hermione responded, smiling encouragingly.

"It was nice of them to give us our house colours for our beds. It makes me feel better about this living situati-" she broke off quickly, blushing, "not that I don't like you, I'm sure living with you will be lovely, it's just that I-"

"Susan, don't worry, I understand. I'm sure we'll get along fine, it's just not home. It's not like living in Gryffindor tower, or - where is it that Hufflepuffs live, anyway?"

"Oh, it's down near the kitchens. One of the muggle-born girls a few years younger than us said it's kind of like a 'Hobbit hole?' it's in a book that she read, I think. I've also heard rumors that it's modeled after a badger's den."

"Oh, J.R.R Tolkien! I've read that too! Hmm, that sounds cozy."

"Oh it is!" replied Susan eagerly, relieved, it seemed, to find something comfortable to talk about.

"It's very warm, and there's lots of places to sit, and it's all yellow and happy, and I" she paused, "I'll miss it," she finished a little sadly, looking down at her hands.

The two witches regarded each other pleasantly. Maybe this living arrangement wouldn't be so bad, at least in terms of their bedroom.

With that, the two prepared for bed. It had been a long day, and the first day of classes was looming ever nearer.

As Hermione lay down to sleep, her thoughts drifted back to less pleasant topics. Could she live here with Draco Malfoy? Could she get over what had happened in the past year? She instinctively held her scarred arm. This move provided both comfort and pain. Not physical pain, but it brought the memories rushing back, when she could trace the thick lines spelling out the slur that had come to define the last few years of her life. Of all their lives, really.

Hermione drifted to sleep, but she had troubled dreams. The star of those dreams was none other than Malfoy himself. She kept going through dream scenarios where she was in various levels of pain and distress, and he just stood there, looking at her. First she was attacked by a hippogriff, then a dementor, then by giant, sentient knives. Finally, it was Bellatrix, and Malfoy replayed his role of not-so-innocent bystander, after re-living that particular scenario, Hermione jerked awake, to find that it was half past four in the morning. Needless to say, Hermione did not have a good night's rest; She did not get back to sleep that night.

*  
Draco Malfoy did not like these new living arrangements. Gone were the dark green leather couches, gone were the snakes carved into the mantlepiece. Gone weres all signs that this used to be a part of the Slytherin living quarters.

Draco didn't want to go to the boys dorm room. Draco didn't want to spend_ any_ time with _any _Hufflepuff, and he certainly didn't want to spend any time with the Gryffindors. Instead, Draco took to roaming around the castle in the dead of night.

It was calming and familiar, to walk around these halls. He felt at peace for the first time in days. As Draco considered the last week, his thoughts drifted to his mother. Narcissa, he now called her. Somehow 'mother' seemed too _motherly _a term for her. She wasn't a cold woman, it was just that she was tough, and they'd been through so much. It seemed only right that he address her by her first name. He was an adult now, after all, and they were equals. They were all each other had.

Draco felt the bitter venom of hate and resentment course through his veins - a feeling that he was all too accustomed to. It's not like they'd had more than each other before, even when his father was, _well_, a real person. A real person with a soul, however flawed that soul may be, was much better than someone without a soul. Someone who was just a shell.

Draco was glad that they'd found a place to keep him, for lack of a better word. He wouldn't have been able to leave her there, knowing he was on the property. The original plan was to keep Lucious in a small cottage on their land, but Draco couldn't bear it. His father could wander out, maybe get into the house, and Draco didn't want Narcissa to have to see her husband ever again. Truth be told, Draco wouldn't have left at all if Narcissa hadn't insisted on it. He was loathe to leave her, but the thought of Draco graduating Hogwarts seemed to bring her some happiness, and he couldn't bring himself to deny her that after all that had happened.

Draco had only seen his father once since the Kiss had been administered. And that had been enough. He had gone to ensure that he was taken to the right place. Draco had used some of his family money to buy a small cottage a couple of miles from Malfoy Manor. He had also ordered their new house elf, Minxy, to stay there and ensure that Lucious ate, and didn't soil himself. The physical body still needed to be taken care of and seen to, even if the man inside it was long dead.

Draco had never seen anything more disturbing in his entire life. The gaunt, hopeless thing that had sat in front of him was not his father. The thing didn't even know that Draco was there. It just sat there, staring sightlessly and drooling, swaying slightly. It was a sight that haunted him when he closed his eyes. It was that memory, coupled with his extreme displeasure at being here that had him up and wandering, instead of sleeping soundly in his bed.

After roaming the castle for a few hours, Draco realized that it was almost morning. He decided to go the Owlery and write a letter to his mother to assure her of his arrival.

_Dear Narcissa, _  
_I've arrived at Hogwarts. It looks like it did before, they've managed to restore it. _  
_I am the only Slytherin who has come back in both seventh and eighth year, so I will have to get to know the younger Slytherins if I want anyone to talk with, I suppose. _

_There wasn't an extra dormitory for eighth years, so they've converted the seventh-year Slytherin's floor into a dormitory and common room for the seven of us that have returned. I am extremely displeased. I am now living with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter, of all people. There's another Gryffindor and two Hufflepuffs, but I don't really know who they are, nor do I care. _

_I hope that you are well, and that you are not too lonely. I will write again in a few days. _

_Faithfully, _  
_Draco _

By the time that Draco had finished writing, the sun was up, his mouth caught in a wide yawn. He estimated that it was 6 in the morning or so, and he was starting to feel the effects of his all-nighter. He called down one of the school owls from the top of the Owlrey - his owl had been killed by Bellatrix in a fit of anger after Potter had escaped from the manor, and her clutches. She needed to "hurt something" she said. Draco shivered, the memories of his aunt were disturbing to him. Especially since it was _his_ owl. He had _liked _his owl. She couldn't have killed something less useful?

He tied the letter to the owl's leg and watched as it flew away, turning into a speck in the sky, and headed back down the stairs. He supposed that he might as well go straight to the Great Hall, even if breakfast hadn't been served yet, he would prefer sitting alone in that large room, than to sitting alone in that tiny common room, with _those_ people, who would know doubt stare at him. He sighed. This was going to be a long and lonely year, and he was not looking forward to a minute of it.


	5. Announcements and The Initiative

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor did I create Harry Potter or his world. Credit to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

After lying in bed for what felt like (and was) hours, Hermione heard Susan start to move around, and took this as a sign that it was time to get up. While Susan was in the shower, Hermione dragged herself out of bed. She was groggy from her inadequate night's rest, and the visions that had haunted her dreams played over and over again in her head.

Hermione hopped in the shower and lost herself in the pleasant feeling of the warm water rushing over her tired body. Her thoughts drifted as she put shampoo in her hair, and she began to lean against the wall, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

_Tap tap tap. _Three loud, hurried knocks were followed by Susan's concerned voice "Hermione! You've been in there for 40 minutes! You're going to miss breakfast if you don't get out of the shower right now!"

Hermione let out a small yelp, before answering "I'll be right out!"

Susan's interjection had startled her, and she hadn't realized that she'd drifted off. How could she be so spacey on the **first day** of classes. This was her second chance, her _last chance _to finish her magical education. She berated herself as she dressed and ran into the common room. Conveniently, Harry and Ron were just entering the common room themselves, though Hermione predicted that they weren't running late because they'd drifted off in the shower, so much as that they'd slept in. Ron, in particular, never really cared for punctuality.

"Good morning, Hermione." said Harry brightly, seeming far too chipper.

"Morning," she replied back, stifling a yawn.

"Didn't get much sleep last night?" Ron questioned.

"No, I woke up quite early this morning and couldn't get back to sleep."

"Oh. That's a shame," said Ron, with the irritating air of someone who had gotten exactly the right amount of sleep, and was perfectly rested.

Breakfast passed by in a blur for Hermione, Harry, and Ron. They had shown up with only 10 minutes to spare, and they shoveled eggs and sausages into their mouths as fast as they could, wasting no time on conversation.

For the first time in her life, Hermione did not listen to the announcements about new professors or other notices given by the head of school. She was too busy trying to stealthy take glances across the room at Draco Malfoy, because if anyone looked worse than she felt, it was him, and it intrigued her.

He was sitting alone at the Slytherin table, and he was paler than he'd been yesterday, which was really quite an achievement for someone with as fair a complexion as his. The dark circles under his eyes, which yesterday had merely been pronounced, were now dark purple and puffy. He also had a un-pinpoint-able look, somewhere around his mouth and the area around his eyes where crows feet would appear later in life. A look that was a mixture of defeat, hostility, and loneliness. In spite of herself, and in spite of their history, Hermione found herself feeling sorry for the isolated Slytherin.

If Hermione had paid attention to McGonagall's announcements, instead of staring at Draco, she may not have been so surprised by what her morning had in-store...

Malfoy sat at the Slytherin's table from the moment when he sent his letter to his mother, until breakfast ended. That was quite a long time to sit by oneself and have nothing to do but nibble on toast and twiddle one's thumbs. He sat alone by choice, not wanting to talk to some third year Slytherin over breakfast. He felt that it was much more dignified to sit by himself, than to seek the company of a 13-year-old. Luckily, the monotony was broken up by the arrival of the post.

Draco instinctively looked up, though he doubted that Narcissa would have been able to respond so quickly. It had been just over an hour. To his surprise, however, the barn owl that he had borrowed from the school to deliver his letter was heading straight towards him. He realized that his mother probably had a great deal of time on her hands, and he again felt guilty for leaving her alone at the Manor, especially because it now held so many dark memories.

_Dearest Draco, _

_I was so happy to hear from you this morning, though I am concerned as to why you were up so early. I already miss you a great deal, and there is very little for me to do at present, so I have hopefully responded in time for you to receive this at breakfast. _

_I'm sorry that your eligible friends have seemingly abandoned the idea of accepting the offer to complete their studies in eighth year, although I suspect that many of your housemates were not invited back. _

_I'm also sorry to hear that you find your living situation so unpalatable, and I know you won't like to hear this, but perhaps you should try to become acquainted with your new roommates. I don't suggest that you walk up to Harry Potter, shake his hand, and ask him to let bygones be bygones, but I do think that if you are polite and friendly that they will respond positively to you, and that your year will not be as lonely as it could be. I doubt that you will heed my advice, but I am obliged to offer it, as your mother. _

_I am well, though I must confess that have been feeling lonely since I said goodbye to you on the platform. I am determined to overcome this, and create a social circle for myself, though I do not anticipate a warm welcome from the majority of the magical community at this time. _

_I know that regardless of any attempts that you may make, you will not be as socially occupied as you have been in past years. I therefore encourage you to use that to your advantage. Focus on your studies, perhaps it will help ebb your loneliness, and high marks can only help you. _

_Affectionately, _  
_Narcissa._

Malfoy read over the letter twice before dropping it onto the table. She was lonely and bored, and he was angry that she had made him come here. It clearly brought both of them more pain than they needed to endure. They'd already had their fair share, and then some.

He couldn't believe her suggestion. His mother had always been gentler than his father. She had always been less-insistent on keeping his list of acquaintances to exclusively Pure Bloods and Slytherins, but the fact that she suggested that he interact with his new roommates rattled him. Had the war changed her that much?

He did, however, see the merit in her final suggestion, to focus on his classes this year. He was relatively free of distractions now, save for his own displeasure, and his ability to brood for hours on end. Maybe if he just tried to put all these feelings aside, he could achieve the marks he knew he was capable of. Then he could prove that he was made of more than just family money and Pure Blood status. Prove that he had wits too.

He saw the Golden Trio, as everyone seemed to call them enter the Great Hall. Potter and Weasley seemed perfectly at ease, but Granger seemed 30 seconds away from hysterics. Draco smirked, she was so easy to upset that you'd think it wouldn't be entertaining anymore - but to him, it was. Her hair was wet, and she had a wild look in her eyes that suggested that she had unintentionally run behind. She looked tired, too. And pale. Now that he thought about it, she looked sick. Draco realized that she'd looked rather unwell yesterday, too. He looked at their table again, and was horrified to see they way she and her cohorts ate. She was shoving food into her mouth like some kind of savage! Draco grimaced in revulsion, how could she act like that in _public_? He knew that they'd arrived late, but still. At least she had the decency to use cutlery, unlike Weasley.

He quickly diverted his attention, not wanting to think about them for any longer than he already had today. Luckily, McGonagall's announcements were there to get his attention, but unfortunately they could not maintain it. His mind drifted as she introduced the new Muggle Studies professor, as well as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but his drifting thoughts were brought right back in the middle of her next announcement.

"In light of the events of the last year, there will be a special Ministy-approved project conducted over the next few weeks. The specific details of this project will vary by year of study, and will be elaborated on in your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. This project will temporarily take the place of that class until its completion at the end of this term..."

Whatever this entailed, it did not sound good to Draco at all. It would likely be some ridiculous initiative to assist with their collective "grieving process," the perfect excuse for the Ministry to interfere in their lives. He would absolutely refuse to participate in this! For all he knew he'd have to share his personal life with the other eighth years in the class, and that was just not going to happen.

"The Ministry has determined that this is necessary, and they have asked a former student, recent graduate, and war veteran to direct this venture. Neville Longbottom has graciously accepted this request, and will join us later on today. Though he is not much older than many of you, I expect you to treat him with the same respect and give him the same level of authority that you would give any professor at this school..."

Neville Longbottom?! What was that idiot doing heading up some kind of experiment? Malfoy could not fathom how the Ministry had come to pick that hopeless excuse for a wizard to execute this ridiculous task. Although, Malfoy realized reluctantly, Longbottom had shown a great deal of what some people might mistake for bravery during the battle. Malfoy knew that all that pomp and circumstance around Gryffindor courage was disastrously misplaced. Acts of bravery? More like fits of insanity, if you asked him. Sticking your neck out like that never led to any good, case and point was Neville's appointment to this position. Draco couldn't imagine that his former scapegoat was happy about this.

During his musings, he'd missed all but the tail-end of McGonagall's speech, but those last few words had caused his mouth to hang open and his temper to rise.

"Participation in this project is mandatory, no exceptions! Now off to class with you all."

Mandatory participation? No exceptions? Malfoy knew that McGonagall was not only stubborn, but kept to her word. He also knew that there was absolutely no way that she would allow him to be exempt from this insanity. He looked over at the Gryffindor table, to see how they had taken this news, but the Golden Trio seemed not to have heard the announcement. Too busy eating like animals, he supposed.

Reluctantly, Draco looked at this class schedule, and to his horror, Defence Against the Dark Arts was his second class of the day. "I'm doomed." he muttered, as he slowly made his way out of the Great Hall and into the corridor, knowing that even though his body would spend the next hour in History of Magic, his mind would already be in DADA.


	6. Of History and Hosptial Wings

**Disclaimer: I don't own, nor did I create these characters or this world. **

**Author's Note: Hello, all! Sorry this chapter isn't as good as it could be. I promise the next one will be much better. After all, next chapter we get to learn what the Ministry's "special project" is.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Hermione's first class of the day was History of Magic. She was surprised to see that all of the eighth years were in attendance, but then again there were so few of them, that they all had every class together.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in the second row, right in the middle of the classroom. The two Hufflepuffs sat together in the first row, to the left, and Malfoy sat close to the back, on the far right, close to the door.

Hermione got out a scroll of parchment, her quill and ink, and prepared to write down everything she knew that she'd been tested on. After six years of attending this class, she could easily pick up on what information Professor Binns would test on. As she settled in, and Harry and Ron took far less useful notes beside her, she felt the first quakes of anxiety shoot though her body. Knowing that this was a warning sign to losing control, relinquishing her mind to her memories and emotions, she began to panic. This, of course, was an incredibly counter-productive reaction, very un-Hermione. She took several deep breaths and tried to force the panic down, focusing intently on what Binns was saying, though she wasn't quite sure what her dead professor was going on about. She was determined to catch up and carry on as normal. She would not let this win and destroy her life.

Professor Binns began his lecture, something about a rebellion and the resulting war between Goblins and Wizards in a time long before now. Draco rolled his eyes and slid back in his seat. This was not at all interesting, and that fact coupled the professor's droning voice made it far too easy for Draco's thoughts to shift to his second class of the day. Not only would he be in a room with 5 Gryffindors and two Hufflepuffs, but he'd be in a room composed entirely of people who were on the opposite side of the war that had ended nearly five months ago. In a room full of his enemies, though they publicly professed to bear no ill will against him. What's more, the recent war was clearly going to be the topic of conversation. This could not be a worse situation.

Malfoy was starting to drift off, when things in class suddenly began to pick up. He heard an unearthly noise. It sounded like it was halfway between a moan and a scream, he looked up and discovered that, though the professor had not stopped talking, everyone had stopped listening, and like him, had their eyes trained on Hermione.

Hermione tried to fight it, she tried with everything in her, but she couldn't, and she felt the wave of panic and terror overcome her. She was back in Malfoy manor, Bellatrix was standing above her and she could feel the searing pain as _Mudblood_ was carved into her skin. Hermione looked up, tears blurring her vision, and she saw Malfoy, above her, wide-eyed and horrified. She screamed, "Stop, stop, make her stop! Help me, Draco. Please!" Her breathing hitched in her chest and she felt the world spiral into blackness.

Malfoy had never been more taken aback in his life. Hermione had just screamed - no, begged - for him to help her. To "make her stop." Draco knew exactly what she was referring to, but he couldn't begin to understand what had triggered such a reaction in the middle of the classroom.

Everyone had turned to look at him. Everyone, that is, except Ron. Ron had lowered himself to the floor and had put Granger's head in his lap. Unshed tears in his eyes, which Malfoy assumed must be from the fact that Weasley was still feeling guilty that he hadn't been able to save her. Ron hadn't been able, and he hadn't been willing. The thought slid down Draco's stomach and settled there. He quickly dismissed it. It wasn't that he didn't want to help... it was that he couldn't, without risk of his aunt killing him at the very least. Not that it should matter, he wasn't obligated to save her, she was the enemy. He shook his head to clear it and looked back to the front of the room.

Professor Binns, who had always seemed to be completely divorced from reality, likely owing to the fact that he was dead, had seemingly picked up only two things from the commotion. 1) that Granger was unwell, and 2) that she wanted Malfoy's assistance.

"Mr. Malfee," Binns wheezed, "would you be so kind as to escort Miss. Granger to the hospital wing?"

"What? No! I'll take her!" Yelled Ron, quite indignant that the professor was suggesting that Draco, the sworn enemy was being asked to take his ex-girlfriend to the hospital wing.

"No, no Welsley," protested the professor. "Miss Granger asked for Mr. Malfee's assistance, she seemed quite upset. Take her, would you Malfee"

"No, professor, let Wea-"

"Really, Mr. Malfee, the girl's unconscious. Just take her. Now, the battle with Golomkir-"

Apparently, Professor Binns had only bothered to learn Granger's name, Malfoy thought bitterly as he approached the unconscious girl.

"Draco," said Harry quietly, his green eyes seeming to want to bore into Malfoy's grey ones.

"Tell Madam Pomfrey that Hermione has PSTD... I think. Or maybe it's PDST. Just tell her it's the muggle name for a panic .. thing."

Malfoy was speechless. Harry Potter had just been completely civil to him. Harry Potter hadn't insisted on taking Granger to the hospital. Harry Potter had been... nice, if not a little too intense on the eye contact.

Malfoy nodded Harry before leaning down to pick up Hermione. Ron glared at him.

"As if I would let you touch her," he growled.

"Ron," said Harry in a warning voice. "Let her go."

Ron glared at Harry and they seemed to have a silent conversation. Reluctantly, and with many death glares in Draco's direction, Ron placed Hermione in Draco's arms. Draco stood up and carried her carefully out of the classroom. He felt so, so _impure_. So dirty, somehow. Draco didn't know how, but he knew that whatever had happened to her just now was very much his fault. He felt like he shouldn't be carrying her, he wasn't _worthy_ to put his hands on her.

He choked as he thought that. Him? Draco Malfoy? Unworthy to touch the mud- ugh! The muggle-born. What kind of twisted world was this? That thought consumed Draco until he made it to the hospital wing.

"Mr. Malfoy, what on earth do you have there?" said Madam Pomfrey, eyeing him suspiciously.

Malfoy walked forward and placed Hermione on a cot.

"Granger passed out, or something in class. Potter told me to tell you that she has SPDT or something. A muggle thing."

Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, I have been informed of Miss. Granger's condition. Thank you for bringing her. Go back to class now."

Malfoy turned to leave, but then stopped. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, what?" she said distractedly as she went about reviving Hermione.

"What is DSPT?"

"I doubt that it's any of your business, but PTSD is short for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is something that muggle doctors diagnose. We don't have a name for such a thing. This condition is exceptionally rare in wizards in this day and age."

"Yes, but what does it mean?" he questioned. He noticed that Hermione was stirring on the bed.

Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes again, and turned to see Hermione start to awaken.

"Mr. Malfoy, you need to return to your class," she said rather sternly.

"Fine." he said as he turned upon his heel, determined to find out what PTSD was, with or without the matron's help. But all he had to go on was a muggle acronym and that it was a "panic thing."


	7. Partners

**Disclaimer: Characters and Setting are not mine - J.K Rowling owns all **

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Hermione felt groggy and confused. She started to sit up, but a Madam Pomfrey's hands pushed her back onto the bed.

"Hermione, it's alright. You're in the hospital wing."

"Oh," is all Hermione said.

She thought back to the last minutes that she really remembered. Her memories of Malfoy Manor — she shuddered — had forced themselves into her consciousness, causing her to have a panic attack, become overwhelmed, and then pass out. All like her doctor had told her might happen. All this was "normal." For someone with a life-altering mental condition, that is.

Hermione also had the strange and worrying memory of Draco's voice, asking what PTSD was. If there was anyone she wanted to keep this information from, it was Malfoy. The Weasleys and Harry all knew, and she was fairly open about it in general — it only made sense, they needed to know. But Hermione didn't want the entire school to know, to think that she was weak and pathetic. That she wasn't really a Gryffindor because she didn't have the courage and strength to overcome this.

Draco knowing, however, wouldn't be good. Her problems originated with his family, after all. And despite what everyone else seemed to think, Hermione wasn't convinced that Draco had actually renounced old ways, and handing him information that he could use to hurt her was incredibly foolish.

"Madam Pomfrey, where are Harry and Ron?"

"I assume they're in class, Miss Granger."

"They didn't stay?"

"Stay? No, they were never here, Hermione."

"What? Who brought me here, then?" Hermione found this all very odd. Why hadn't they brought her here?

"Mr. Malfoy brought you here."

"WHAT?" Hermione shrieked. "Why?"

"That I don't know, Miss. Granger, but I suggest you relax. If you key yourself up again, you're putting yourself at risk for another attack."

"What time is it? Is class over yet?"

"Your first class will be ending shortly."

"I have Defence Against the Dark Arts next, I need to go."

"I think not! You're to stay here and rest."

"But it's the first day of class! I have to go!"

"Absolutely not! You will remain here until I am convinced that you are ready to go back to class."

*

Draco was dawdling in the hallway, reluctant to get started on this ridiculous project. He passed the corridor that led to the library, and before he knew what he was doing, he pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside. Project be damned.

He scanned the shelves, looking for any books on rare Wizarding maladies. When he had found three ancient-looking tomes, he settled down at a desk in the back, and began to leaf through.

All of the various sicknesses that Draco came across were gruesome and irrelevant. He flipped to the front of one of the books again, looking for the chapter list and muttering to himself. "'Maladies of the Skin,' no 'Maladies of the Mouth and Face,' no. 'Maladies of the Mind,' aha! This must be it."

Skipping to find the right page number, Malfoy began his fevered search. One title caught his eye. "War Sickness? Hmm."

He began to read the description, but he was no more than three words in when a very stern voice sounded above him.

"Mr. Malfoy, do I need to remind you that being invited to finish your education is a privilege?"

"No, professor."

"Then, please tell me why you are not in the class that has been specifically pointed out as being compulsory."

"I, uh, I got distracted."

"By the library?"

"Yes." Malfoy replied indignantly. She'd asked that as though he'd never stepped foot inside the room before.

"Well, luckily for you, class has just begun. Come along now, I'll walk you so I can ensure that all of your classmates have made it there as well."

Their walk was an awkward one, for Malfoy at least. He was already disobeying his mother's advice. He should be focusing on school — no matter how ridiculous the project was — and not on Hermione Granger. He couldn't help himself, though. Whatever was wrong with her clearly had something to do with him, and he was determined to find out what was making her act like this.

They reached the classroom and McGonagall opened the door and walked to the front of the room to stand next to Neville Longbottom. Draco slunk in and took a seat at the back again.

"Mr. Longbottom, I'm sorry for the delay for both myself and Mr. Malfoy. Now, before I turn this over to Mr. Longbottom, is everyone here?"

"Hermione isn't" Ron said rather aggressively. "She passed out in History of Magic and he" Ron said while gesturing violently in Malfoy's direction "took her to the hospital wing."

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall admonished, "why didn't you mention this?"

"I, uh, I don't know, actually."

"Right, well I suppose she won't be present for this class. Whoever her partner is will have to fill her in later. I'm going to go check on Miss. Granger." With that Minerva left the room, and all attention focused on Neville.

"Hello. As some of you know, my name is Neville Longbottom. I was in your year in Gryffindor."

"You don't have to introduce yourselves to us," piped Justin Finch-Fletchly.

"No, certainly not." chimed Susan Bones. "I think we all know who you are!"

"Well, alright," said Neville, blushing. "The Ministry has created an initiative that they want all current Hogwarts students to participate in. The aim of this project is to help with the grieving process, as well as to ensure that everyone is coping well, and to help those who are not."

Neville said this all rather professionally and confidently. The whole class was taken aback. Neville had certainly fought bravely, but none of them had ever heard him sound so self-assured before.

"Wait, what's this?" asked Ron, he and Harry looking very confused.

"McGonagall announced this at breakfast," offered Susan. "It's just a project that the Ministry insists on running."

Malfoy's heart sank as he processed his former scape-goat's speech. "Help with the grieving process?" That could only mean one thing. Sharing feelings with people he didn't want to share them with.

"Everyone is to partner up, and there will be one group of three because you're year is an odd number. We want to try and avoid having people in the same house as partners because there's too much history there and we want to continue to foster inter-house relations."

Draco looked around the room. This was terrible. No one would want to be partnered with him anyway, and now he'd have to tell that person - or people - about his feelings. During this thought process, he didn't notice that everyone had seemed to partner up, leaving him all on his own.

Susan sat next to Harry, and Justin sat between Dean and Ron. As Draco watched them, a thought hit him like a train. He was the odd one out, and there was one person missing from class. He would have to be partnered with Hermione Granger.

"All right, I see that there's a little bit of house overlap, but because of the number of Gryffindors, that was inevitable. Malfoy, as Hermione's partner, you'll have to fill her in on everything she'll be missing today."

As Neville said that, all eyes turned to him. Harry merely looked cautious, but Ron looked furious. And yet, all he did was glare daggers at Draco. "Hmm." he thought. "I guess he doesn't love her enough to partner with me so that _she_ doesn't have to." Something about that thought made Draco uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

For the rest of the class, Draco tried not to pay attention to what was going on around him. He ascertained that each person would write a series of essays that described their involvement in the war, how they felt about it, etc., and then they would swap these essays with their partner. After everyone had read their partner's essays, the two (or three) people would discuss the content. Everything about this project was a bad idea, and Malfoy was practically paralyzed at the thought of having to share all of this with Granger. One pleasant thought did make it's way to his consciousness, however, and that was the assumption that Hermione would be forced to explain what was wrong with her. Draco smirked.

*  
Hermione was not permitted to attend any of her classes that afternoon. She was cooped up in the hospital wing, and she was very unhappy about it. She at least wanted visitors; why hadn't Harry and Ron come to check on her? Classes were just finishing now, and she hoped that they'd take this opportunity to come and see her. As she thought of all this, she heard the doors creak open. Her head shot up, expecting to see her two best friends, but was instead met with the sight of Draco Malfoy walking purposefully towards her.

"Malfoy." Hermione said impassively.

"Granger." he replied, imitating her tone.

"Why are you here?" she questioned warily.

"We're partners for the Ministry's project, and I came to—"

"We're what? What Ministry project?" Hermione interrupted the blonde. "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't hear McGonagall's announcement this morning. The Ministry is forcing a project on us, led by Neville-sodding-Longbottom _of all people_, and we have to be partners. You missed the first class, and Neville told me to come and fill you in at the end of the day."

"Malfoy, are you really as dumb as you look?" Hermione said, bitingly.

"Uh, what?" said a surprised Malfoy. He thought that they were having a civil conversation. Apparently not.

"Do you really think that I'm going to believe this ridiculous story? You're just trying to provoke me! How cruel are you? You've seen enough to see that I'm not... I'm not okay."

Though she had started out strong, the last few words of her sentence had wavered terribly. Unshed tears began to make her eyes glassy, intensifying their colour and shape. Malfoy found himself staring into her eyes, appreciating the way little flecks of gold speckled the brown underneath. This was short-lived, not only because of the shame of realizing that he had brought Hermione Granger to tears in less than two minutes, but because he realized he was appreciating what she looked like. That couldn't be a good sign. She was _Hermione Granger_, after all.

"Sorry for bothering you," he said rather distractedly, before tearing his eyes from hers and turning to walk out, and walking straight into Ron and Harry. He pushed past them and ran out into the hallway, his breathing heavy.

Despite the unpleasantness of the whole ordeal, this was the most alive he'd felt in weeks. Whatever just happened was intense, and had made him feel a profound sense of guilt, confusion, hope, and hurt. Hope and hurt? He questioned himself. What about her should make him feel hope _or_ hurt? Draco wasn't sure he liked how this witch was making him feel.

Back in the hospital wing, Hermione tried to mop up her tears before Harry and Ron saw them, but it was much too late.

"What'd that git do to you?" Ron demanded, as he charged towards the bed.

"Oh, nothing." Hermione replied. "Just some stupid practical joke about us having to be partners for something."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Telling her was not going to be fun.

Harry stepped in. "Hermione," he began gently. "Remember how we came late to breakfast, and how we didn't listen to what McGonagall had to say?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, the thing is, there is a project. The Ministry wants us to grieve properly or something, and, uh, you and Malfoy actually _are_ partners." He finished awkwardly, expecting her to start yelling and screaming, but instead she replied in a very calm, very low voice. And that was a hundred times more frightening to him.

"How were the partners assigned?"

"We picked them ourselves," began Ron, "but we're not supposed to have people in the same house partnered together, and you were away, and no one else wanted to partner with Malfoy, so"

"So, even though you know that my issues have to do _specifically_ with Malfoy and his home, you left me to be partnered with him instead."

Harry and Ron stared at her. They hadn't really thought about it that way, but now that she pointed it out, that's exactly what had happened.

"Hermione," Harry began, "we didn't mean to, we just sort of forgot, I guess."

It became immediately apparent that this was entirely the wrong thing to say.

"Oh I see," said Hermione, manically "you forgot! Oh, well if you forgot then I guess it's fine."

"It is?" said Ron hopefully.

"NO IT BLOODY WELL ISN'T" screeched Hermione in reply.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey stepped in. "Get out, you two. I do not need you upsetting Miss Granger further! She's had a hard enough day as it is!"

The combination of both Madam Pomfrey and Hermione glaring at them was enough to send the two young wizards on their way.

After they left, Hermione contemplated what this project could be and what it could entail. It was clearly about the war, and she would have to talk to Malfoy about it. This couldn't be any worse. Oh wait, it could and it was. She'd started their partnership by insulting him, yelling at him, accusing him of tormenting her, and then bursting into tears. If he didn't take her seriously before, she shuddered to think of what he thought of her now.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! **

**If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask. I hope you're enjoying everything so far! **

**Please read and review! **


	8. Midnight Strolls

**Disclaimer: Do not own any of the characters, etc. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Later that evening, after dinner had long been over, Hermione managed to convince Madam Pomfrey that she could leave the hospital wing and go to bed in her dorm room.

As she walked from the hospital wing, and started to approach the Great Hall, she changed route. She decided that though she was perfectly capable of resuming her every day life, she was not quite ready to speak to Ron, Harry or Malfoy. Instead, she decided to wander for a while.

*  
Draco sat in the common room, watching Harry, Ron and Dean. Draco had expected Weasley, or at the very least, Potter to chastise him for upsetting their beloved mud, er, muggle born. But they hadn't. They'd simply strolled in, sat down next to Dean, and played exploding snap. How dull, Draco thought. He'd been looking forward to a bit of a fight. He didn't have much else to do, after all, and the excitement would be welcome. The distraction would be welcome, too. What he needed to be distracted from, it pained him to admit, was the expression on Hermione's face when he'd told her that they would be partners. He didn't know why it haunted him, but he wanted it to stop. Now.

He debated picking a fight with Weasley. Provoking him would be easy enough — he had a firebrand temper, that one — but he thought better of it. Heeding his mother's advice, he grudgingly decided to try and establish a civil relationship with the Gryffindor men. Screw the Hufflepuffs, though. Badgers weren't of much consequence to a Malfoy.

As he made his way over to where the three men sat, they all looked up at him. Potter looked dubious, Dean looked bewildered, and Ron looked downright hostile.

"What do you want, ferret?" Ron questioned

"Nothing from you, weasel," Malfoy answered in a bored and dismissive tone, which very well may have infuriated Ron all the more.

"Potter," Draco began. "How, uh, is," he paused, "Granger?"

Harry evaluated the Slytherin standing in front of him. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, he answered politely. "She's not very happy," he admitted. "How much of that is your fault, and how much of that is ours —" he gestured to Ron, "is up for debate."

"I didn't mean to upset her." Draco admitted sheepishly. "I thought, I don't know, I thought she'd just take it in stride."

Harry blinked. "Yeah, well she's had a tough year." Malfoy was being nice. He couldn't believe it.

"I know, Potter. We all have."

Harry stared at Draco.

"What?"

"Hermione said the same thing."

Draco smiled weakly. How on earth was he having this borderline pleasant conversation with the Boy Who Lived? It all came crashing down as soon as it had started, however, when Ron decided to interject.

"Hermione's rough year has been rougher than most." Ron began slowly, but his voice escalated as he continued. "No thanks to you or your family, ferret."

"If she's so scared of me and my family, then why'd you letter be paired with me, Weasel?" Draco shot back, anger shooting through his veins. "Don't love her as much as you say you do, I expect."

That, apparently, was the final straw for Ron. He whipped out his wand, yelling "You don't know anything about us!"

"From what I can see the flame has died down a fair bit, Weasel. Is she even your girlfriend anymore?"

There was a bright flash of red light, a strangled yell from Ron, and the next thing Malfoy knew, he was on his back, on the other side of the room, with a smarting pain all over his body.

Ron moved to attack again, but before Malfoy could get his wand out, someone else said "Expelliarmus."

"Harry, what are you playing at? Did you hear what that git said?"

"Ron," Harry said, exasperated, "leave it."

Draco jumped to his feet, and quickly made his way toward the door. He wouldn't sit around and be attacked by Weasley, and he certainly wouldn't be defended by Potter. Without stopping to say thank you to Harry, he wrenched open the door, and marched into the hallway.

*  
Hermione had circled the third floor twice now, but was still not ready to go down to the first floor and into her common room. Instead she sat herself down and leaned against the wall. She berated herself for letting her problems ruin her first day of class. What was the point of even coming back here if she couldn't go for more than a day without ending up in the hospital wing? How was she supposed to finish her eighth year if she constantly missed class, and fell unconscious in the classes she did attend? Why was she so pathetic? Tears began to stream from her eyes. She hugged her knees, and hung her head as she wept silently.

Her thoughts drifted back to what her therapist had told her. Her therapist, Dr. Shelling had a favorite saying — "The sooner you confront your PTSD, the easier it is to overcome." Apparently going to therapy wasn't considered "confronting" in Dr. Shelling's eyes. She had also told Hermione that PTSD "was not a sign of weakness," Hermione disagreed with her strongly on this point. It had to be a sign of weakness, because none of the rest of them had reacted similarly. Everyone had been very sad after the war, yes. They'd all been very anxious after the war, yes. But they weren't haunted by visions, memories and dreams they way she was. They weren't constantly anxious and jumpy like she was. They didn't suffer a pounding heart, nausea, labored breathing or panic attacks when they were reminded of what had happened in the last year. "Yes," said a voice in her head. "But none of them were mutilated the way you were either."

Her therapist had said that the only way to overcome PTSD was to accept what had happened in the past. To confront her thoughts and feelings - pushing them away only rooted them deeper. Dr. Shelling had told Hermione that she should confide in a trusted friend all of her thoughts, and that this would help her work through her problems. She had also told her not to avoid triggers, but to merely be aware of what they are, so that she could brace herself emotionally. In fact, she said that exposure to triggers may help her become less sensitive to them. Hermione sniffed. Well, at the very least Dr. Shelling would be pleased that she had to work with Malfoy. This was exactly the kind of thing that her therapist would encourage. "Exposure to the trigger." Ugh.

As Hermione sat brooding and as the last of her tears fell, she did not hear the approaching footsteps. Draco, very much in his own world and not expecting to see anyone out of bed at this hour, did not hear Hermione's sniffles. Draco's feet caught on Hermione's crouched body, and he fell, landing sprawled on the ground. Hermione screamed "Lumos," and her wand light fell on the young wizard, her heart pounding in her chest, ready to attack.

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"What are you doing here?" they said at the same time.

"It's none of your business." Hermione said to Draco.

"Yeah, well it's none of yours, either."

They had regarded each other suspiciously for a few seconds before Malfoy jumped to his feet and made to storm off when Hermione called out to him.

"Malfoy,"

"What is it?" He said in a hostile tone, spinning around to look at the young witch.

Hermione recoiled at the harsh sound of his voice. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for how I acted today." Hermione's voice was very small and very timid. As though she expected Malfoy to attack her.

Malfoy picked up on the fear in her voice and felt another wave of guilt. For what seemed like the umpteenth time, Draco felt bad for how his behavior towards Granger seemed to affect her.

"Oh." He said. "Don't worry about it." Draco looked at her for a few moments before conceding, "I didn't mean to upset you either."

She nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips before she turned to head back to the dormitories.

"Are you heading back to the common room?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Yes, why?" Hermione questioned.

"We could walk together."

Panic engulfed Hermione. Ever since she had run into Draco, she could feel her anxiety rising. Walking back to the common room together, alone, in the dark, could not possibly end well for her, and Hermione didn't fancy having a panic attack in the middle of the night, with only Malfoy to rely on for help. But at the same time, how could she reject his offer to be civil when she'd been so rude to him before.

"Okay." she responded reluctantly.

They walked together in silence, Hermione focusing on her breathing, trying not to let it become rapid and labored. Before she knew it, they were standing in front of the statue.

"Harmony" Draco said quietly, and the statue leapt aside.

Hermione stepped into the dark common room first. Everyone else had long since gone to bed, and she made her way to the girls dorm. As she was closing the door behind her she could've sworn that Malfoy had said "Goodnight," but that seemed entirely too good to be true.

Hermione changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed where she started crying again. This year was going to be impossible. How could she possibly work with him? Even if he was being civil, the simple fact of who he was caused her to react.

Then again, maybe this would be just what Dr. Shelling would order. Confront the PTSD she had said. Hermione supposed she'd have to, now that she was working with Malfoy, whether she wanted to or not.

And as those thoughts drifted around in her head, Hermione drifted into another uneasy sleep.


	9. The Beginning of the Project

**Disclaimer: Characters etc not mine, but JK Rowlings **

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm sorry I disappeared for a while there. Work has taken up a lot of my time, and as school is beginning to start again, I'm a little preoccupied. Please review if you read and have a thought to share. I hope you like this next chapter! **

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Draco watched Hermione close the door to the girls' dorm before he entered his own. He himself couldn't quite accept that he'd wished her "goodnight," so he wasn't surprised that she had ignored him. He entered the boys' dorm, and was pleased to see that his roommates were all asleep; he didn't fancy going another round with Weasley. As Draco prepared for bed, he thought over his last encounter with Granger.

She had seemed so hesitant to walk back with him, not that he could blame her, of course. But he thought she would have noticed how he'd changed, or at least appreciate the things he didn't do. He didn't kill Dumbledore, first of all, although he could see why she didn't exactly give him credit for that. He barely participated in the war, though he supposed she was too busy to notice that.

But he had been invited back here, for Salazar's sake. Granger, of all people, should be able to trust McGonagall's judgement. But apparently, to her at least, he was the same Draco Malfoy that he'd always been. He hoped that this project would change that — even though it was monumentally stupid, it at least had the potential to change Hermione's opinion of him. He wanted people to at least acknowledge that he and his mother were not like his father. Not anymore, anyway. And with those hopes in mind, Draco fell asleep.

*

Hermione awoke with dread on the morning of the next DADA class. Today would be the start of the project — a project which no one had bothered to fill her in on, by the way. Harry and Ron got all skittish when she brought it up, and she didn't want to ask Draco, the longer she put off talking to him, the better. She couldn't ask Ginny, because each grade was doing something different, and since Harry and Ginny's relationship had seemingly become nonexistent, it would be awkward. Hermione could've asked Susan, she supposed, but they weren't that close, and she thought that it would prompt awkward questions and conversations that were best avoided.

Hermione had gotten up, showered, gotten dressed, and headed to breakfast before Hannah had even woken up. To her relief, she didn't see anyone from her new "house" in the common room or on the way to breakfast, either. She happily thought that they were all still in bed as well. She did not feel like talking to anyone today, especially since conversations would inevitably turn to the project.

She arrived at the dining hall and sat alone at the Gryffindor table. There seemed to be very few people there this early. Mostly Ravenclaws, wanting to have breakfast before cramming in some studying before class. Hermione used to do that too, occasionally, but she couldn't honestly say she felt like doing it anymore. When had she become so different? Studying and schoolwork used to be her main focus, but now... now she felt as though she could hardly focus on every day conversations, let alone class.

If anything was a clear sign that she needed help, this had to be it. She sighed, and continued looking around the room until her eyes locked someone else's. Draco Malfoy was staring at her. Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she felt his stare bore into her. She put her head down on the table and started breathing deeply, trying to calm herself. She felt as though two opposing voices were screaming in her head.

Her instinct was yelling things like "Run, flee! He'll kill you! Remember Bellatrix?" while the slightly calmer and wiser voice told her to "Keep breathing, he's not going to hurt you. Remember when you walked back to the dorm together? If he was going to kill you, he would've done it then. Besides, that's not really what you're worried about... you're just worried about your memories resurfacing and making a fool out of yourself."

That is how Harry, Ron, and Ginny found her; head down on the table, steady breaths, and white knuckles that were clutching the table. A knowing glance passed between all of them, they knew that today was the day that she would have to talk to Malfoy, the day they'd start to write their essays. Harry was surprised that Hermione hadn't hexed Ron and himself into oblivion for leaving her with Draco, but then again he wasn't complaining.

*  
Draco stared at the group of Gryffindors who were now sitting around Hermione's bent figure. She was one weird witch. What happened to all that Gryffindor tenacity that she was supposed to have? He had merely made eye contact with her, and suddenly she seemed on the brink of hysterics! This project was _not_ going to work, which wasn't news to him, but still. Draco had become rather attached to the idea that if Granger read his essays, she'd understand that he and his mother were just stuck in the middle of it all, that they didn't want to be involved, and that she'd tell her friends, prompting everyone to let it go. "Although," a voice whispered in the back of his head, "You and your mother didn't and don't exactly care if someone else is getting rid of mudbloods. No one is going to forget your involvement if you don't actually disagree with what happened, and prove it." Draco tried to shut the voice in the back of his head out, and as he did this, a blonde in blue appeared in front of him.

"Draco, it seems as though you've got a snazzlefrat above your head." cooed Luna dreamily as she passed his table.

Draco stared at her, before somewhat violently asking, "A what?"

"A snazzlefrat. They make you think most negatively. I could remove i—"

"No, no thanks." Draco continued to stare at Luna. She really was loony.

"I'll just go to class." he added as he sped off. It was creepy. He was sure he didn't have a snazzle-thing, but it unnerved him that she was seemingly able to pick up on what he was feeling. Why had she stopped to talk to him, anyway? Draco was imprisoned in his house for months. Tortured and underfed, how could she even look at him like nothing happened? She _was_ Loony Luna Lovegood, so he supposed that this was normal behaviour. But if he was not mistaken, she was friends with Granger, which should mean that she despised him beyond belief for Hermione's sake, if not her own.

All through History of Magic, Hermione thought of nothing but the coming hour in DADA. She didn't even take out a quill to make notes, which deeply alarmed both Harry and Ron, because History of Magic was easily one of their worst courses and Hermione had always pulled them through it. If, in this insane project, they asked people to share their thoughts and feelings about the war, what would she do? She couldn't tell Malfoy what had happened. He already knew the beginning part, anyways, just not what had made her so ... so different. "Although," said that evil little voice in the back of her head, "he did carry you from this class to the hospital wing. He probably already thinks you're unhinged." The school bell rang, signifying the end of the class, and as Hermione walked to DADA with Harry and Ron, she felt like a convict walking towards the gallows.

*

Malfoy arrived at the DADA classroom early. He had dashed out of History of Magic the second it ended, and all but sprinted here. He had nervous energy that needed to be spent, but now he regretted his actions. He did not want to go inside. Draco stood, staring at the door, until he saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione heading up the corridor, and ducked into the classroom.

The class room was set up differently, and it took Draco by surprise. Gone were the desks and chairs that were usually seen in the classrooms of Hogwarts, and in their place were sturdy armchairs in sets of two, or in one case, three, with each chair facing the other of it's pair. In between the chairs, there were a small tables equipped with tea sets. Draco's mouth hung open in shock. This was the worst idea in the living world! He was supposed to sit with Granger and have tea?! "Oh sorry that my aunt sliced into your arm, carving in a derogatory slur that will remain for the rest of your life to torment you while I stood idly by! But nevermind all that, could you pass the cream?" He shook his head in disbelief. This was absurd! Longbottom was the biggest git that there ever was, Malfoy concluded. This was bound to end in tears.

Draco saw Hermione walk in, assess the situation, realize what it meant, and subsequently lose all colour in her face. As he watched her, he half-wished that she'd pass out again so that they didn't have to participate in this farce, but a loud voice interrupted Malfoy's reverie.

"Everyone," began Neville Longbottom, "I'm glad you've all made it to class. As you have no doubt assumed from the setup of the room, today will be a fairly simple exercise." Draco snorted, simple exercise his arse.

"You are to sit with your partner, or partners, and get to know each other a little better. For next week's class, I want your first essay ready for reading and discussion, but I want you to establish bonds of familiarity and trust before we dive into the next stage. Any questions? No? Good. Get started, then."

Draco stared at him. How did Longbottom not know how terrible an idea this was? He shrugged resignedly, his shoulders noticeably slumped, taking away part of his aura of superiority and status, and dragged himself to the only two unoccupied chairs, before unceremoniously throwing himself into one. He looked across the room expectantly, and saw Hermione hesitantly making her way towards him.


	10. First Meeting

**Disclaimer: You know the drill **

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Hermione sat down in front of Draco Malfoy. She held her breath for a few moments, attempting to remain in control. She finally exhaled, and stole a glance at the young man sitting in front of her, surprised to see that he was looking at her with intense curiosity.

"Shall I pour the tea, then?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Uh, ye-yes." Hermione stuttered back. This was already incredibly bizarre. She was sitting across from Draco _sodding_ Malfoy, and he had just asked her if he should pour the tea. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't been there herself — and, of course, she would have preferred not to have been there herself.

She watched as his practiced hands poured tea into both their cups, adding some milk to his own. He seemed so _steady_ to her. No shaking, no stuttering. He seemed perfectly normal; as if the war had never even happened. How could she possibly open up to him about anything that had happened to her? He would obviously never understand. He would think that she was weak and pathetic for clinging — albeit unwillingly — to the ghosts of her past. How did the events of the war not shake him? What about his father being administered The Kiss?

She looked at him again, and to her relief, she noticed that he did have dark circles under his eyes. She was shocked that they weren't immediately apparent to her, they looked like dark purple bruises, and they stood out painfully against his lily-white skin. At least someone other than herself wasn't sleeping well, this being evidenced by the fact that she had run into him in the dead of night in the corridor a week ago.

"I," began Hermione rather timidly, "I suppose we should start?"

*  
Malfoy stared at the witch sitting in front of him. She looked terrified, she looked like she thought that at any second he would lunge forward and throttle her. The look in her eyes as they sat across from each other mirrored the look that had been on her face that night that they'd run into each other.

Draco noticed that she hadn't changed much since then. She still had a hunched, defeated look, and her insomnia was written all over her face and body. She looked so broken, and in spite of himself, he felt as though he should comfort her, make it better somehow.

He had been surprised when she suggested that they start talking, but he took up her invitation almost as soon as she had issued it.

"I don't know what to say," he began honestly.

"The war was bad, it hurt me, it nearly destroyed my mother, and it defiled our home, but I'm supposed to be okay with it now because it's over and we survived. I'm not okay with it, with any of it. I brought the Death Eaters here, Dumbledore's dead because of me. My mother has to live in a house that my father invited all manner of evil into. Voldemort destroyed all my and my mother's memories and replaced them with vile and horrible things. I watched a teacher get killed at my dining room table. I watched as countless others were slain and tortured in every room of what was once a grand mansion. Now, though it's clean and repaired, all I see when I am there is dirt and blood and death. Your turn, Granger."

He said all of this while making direct eye contact with Hermione. Neither of them blinked throughout his speech, and their eyes remained locked for what seemed like an eternity afterwards. Draco noticed again how beautiful her eyes were; hazel, but with flecks of molten gold that caught the light and gleamed. He closed his eyes, trying to purge his mind of any Granger-appreciating thoughts. This was surely not appropriate. He wasn't as hateful as his father, but he still didn't _like_ mudbloods — _fuck! muggle-borns!_ He did find them, or any aspect of them pretty. Or, at the very least, he didn't want to.

The witch in front of him stared back and said something so quietly that Draco only caught two words: "Dumbledore" and "dead."

"Speak up, Granger, I'm not an owl. My hearing isn't trained to pick up on the squeakings of mice."

Hermione glared at him.

"I am not a mouse, Draco Malfoy." she said in a shaky, nonetheless intimidating voice.

"Alright then, repeat what you said." he smirked a little, it was easy to fire her up.

"It's not your fault that Dumbledore is dead."

"Wh-what?" Draco's voice faltered. He looked into her eyes imploringly, but she dropped her gaze to her intertwined hands.

"Harry found Snape right before he died. Nagini had—"

"I know how he died." Malfoy cut her off sharply. He didn't like to think about his professor and head of house's final demise.

"He only had a few moments left, and Harry collected memories from him, memories that Snape needed Harry to see. Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him in place of you. He knew that you'd been ordered to do it, but he didn't want you to destroy yourself, destroy your soul."

"No." said Draco firmly. "No, it's my fault. It has to be my fault."

"It's not. Snape was on our— er, the Order's side all along."

"No!" Draco repeated, more firmly this time. He only did it because my mother made him promise to keep me safe. She told me, he made the Vow."

"He was a spy, Draco." said Hermione compassionately. "He loved Harry's mother until the day he died, and though he hated Harry because he was James' son, the second Voldemort had threatened Lily, he switched. He came back to the light."

"No, he can't have!" cried Draco, throwing his mug across the room, letting it smash against the wall.

The entire class went silent, and all eyes were on them.

"Back to your conversations, everyone!" said Neville authoritatively as he rushed over to Draco and Hermione's table.

Great, thought Draco. All he needed was Longbottom's involvement in this conversation. At least it was better than Potter or Weasley.

"What happened, Malfoy?"

"Nothing!" said Malfoy defensively.

"I told him about Snape." said Hermione tentatively.

"I see," said Neville. "that he didn't take it well."

Hermione shook her head, and Malfoy gave her a withering look, which made her shrink back in her chair. Despite his anger, he felt ever so slightly guilty for making her recoil.

"Draco, if you would like to talk to someone about this, I'm sure McGonagall would love to help. She has Snape's memories. If you ask her, perhaps she will let you see them."

"I don't want McGonagall's help." spat Draco. "Nor yours. This project is ridiculous. I don't want to talk about my personal life, and Granger here is clearly halfway to insanity. Barely speaking, **clearly** not sleeping, and fainting at every instance."

It had been a long time since Draco had been this angry. _Snape, a member of the Order?_ What were these idiots on about? Snape was one of Voldemort's most trusted allies. Bellatrix had always...wait. Draco replayed the last year in his mind. Bellatrix had stopped associating with Snape. When she came back from Azkaban, she had seemingly trusted him, but in the past year his aunt had stopped mentioning him. He hadn't seen them together at all. Had Bellatrix been questioning Snape's loyalty? Snape had seemed loyal to Draco... but... This was all too much. He couldn't process this. He had tried to be civil. He had opened up to Hermione in hopes that she'd do the same and that he'd learn her secret. He'd learn if it was really his fault, too. So many things were.

Draco had been carrying the guilt of Dumbledore's death for so long now that the prospect of it not having been his fault seemed completely foreign and painful. It had to have been him. Snape _couldn't_ have been on the Order's side, it was Snape, after all, who had actually fired the curse.

"That's it." exclaimed Malfoy, as all of these thoughts whirled around in his head like a hurricane. "I'm done."

And with that, he sped out of the classroom.

*  
Hermione starred at the now empty chair.

"Well," commented Neville. "That escalated rather rapidly."

"Neville, can I go too, please?"

"Yes, I suppose there's no point in you remaining here until the end of class."

"Thank you."

Hermione left the classroom and headed back to her dorm, going over everything that had happened in the last half hour.

Draco had started out so civil and polite... but the second he started talking about his past he had become hostile and darker. And that look in his eyes, how their eyes had locked. How it had been almost impossible to pull away... And he'd brought up her behavior so callously! Didn't he have any compassion? Hermione chuckled darkly to herself, of course he didn't. He was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione thought back to when he'd likened her to a mouse. She hadn't felt that angry in months, and it felt _good_. She was so tired of being sad and tormented all the time. Of feeling broken every moment. The anger had pulled her back together and unleashed a hot, fiery, anger that took hold of her gut. She felt whole and she felt alive. She felt energized for the first time in months and the thought elated her. She came crashing back down to reality when she realized that _Malfoy_ was the one responsible for the feeling of completeness that had consumed her when her body had been pumped with the adrenaline that was the customary response to such an insult.

As Hermione continued to think over their conversation, she mused over Malfoy's reaction to Snape's involvement in the war. He'd seemed so shaken when she'd told him about Snape. Wouldn't he prefer that Snape be a good man? She supposed that maybe he didn't. Just because McGonagall had let him back into this school didn't mean that he hadn't fought against them in the war. He was still a member of the opposing side. An enemy.

Despite this, Hermione felt herself nursing feelings of pity and concern for the Slytherin. He had said some frankly unpleasant things about what had happened to him during the war. Hermione noticed that Draco hadn't so much as mentioned his father's fate. That caused her pity to intensify, she knew how he must feel. She had lost her father, too; and at least Draco still had a mother. Hermione was oblivious to where her feet were carrying her, and before she knew it, she found herself outside of McGonagall's office.

She uttered the password — _shortbread_ — went up the spiral staircase and knocked on the door.

Professor McGonagall opened it, and before she had uttered a word in greeting, Hermione had said "Professor, I need to talk to you about Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Thank you to all of the reviewers! I hope you are enjoying the story so far!

I'm sorry if it's moving rather slowly in the romance department, but I'm trying to keep it somewhat realistic. Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same goes for a romance between a traumatized Gryffindor and a stubborn Slytherin.

Please read and review!


	11. Tentative Kindness and Screaming

**Disclaimer: I don't own stuff, you know the drill. **

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"Ah, Ms. Granger. I thought I'd be seeing you in my office soon. I know that it must be tremendously difficult for you to interact with Mr. Malfoy, but I—"

Hermione cut Professor McGonagall off "It's not about the project, Professor. It's about Malfoy's reaction to what I told him about Professor Snape."

Professor McGonagall surveyed the young witch in front of her and exhaled slowly. "What, specifically, did you tell Mr. Malofy?"

Hermione relayed to Professor McGonagall her conversation with Malfoy, how it had ended, and how Malfoy had then stalked out of the DADA classroom, off to who knows where.

"He didn't take it well, to say the least," finished Hermione.

"I see." McGonagall responded curtly. "Well, he's going to have to come to terms with this situation and I doubt that he'll want to accept any help from us."

"Please, Professor!" pleaded Hermione. "Could you, could you maybe show him the memories that Harry saved? If he saw what happened with his own eyes, maybe he'd be able to accept it."

"Well," considered the Professor. "If you can get him to agree to such a thing, then I see no reason why he shouldn't be allowed to see what Snape left to Harry. It will at least instill in him that you've told him the truth."

"Oh thank you, Professor!" Hermione smiled adoringly up at her favorite teacher, and turned to leave. As she was reaching the door, McGonagall called out to her.

"I have to say, Miss Granger, that I'm quite surprised that you're so concerned with Draco Malfoy's feelings. What prompted this change? It's hardly pleasant for you to speak to him, considering the last year...?"

"I, uh, I don't know why, actually." said Hermione, a note of puzzlement in her voice. "I just... He seemed so lost and I felt sorry for him."

"Hmm." replied McGonagall, before nodding and signaling to Hermione that it was okay to leave.

Hermione made her way through the castle, hoping that Draco was in their common room, or that she'd bump into him on the way there. She laughed quietly to herself, who would've thought there would ever be a day when she, Hermione Granger, actually wanted to find Draco Malfoy.

Class would soon be over, and lunch would soon begin, but Hermione had a feeling that Draco wasn't feeling particularly hungry. She approached the statue, uttered the password, and stepped into the common room, where she indeed found the young Slytherin.

Draco looked up at the sound of her entrance. "What do you want, Granger?" he questioned rather angrily.

"I just, uh, I just wanted to tell you that McGonagall said she'd show you the memories that Snape left to Harry, so that you can see what happened for your—"

"I don't want _your_ help." cried Malfoy.

"Does it matter where the help is coming from if you'll be the better for accepting it?" questioned Hermione boldly, her eyes flashing.

"Yes, I don't think my dignity would survive accepting help from you and McGonagall!"

"By accepting a place at this school, you've already accepted help from McGonagall!" Hermione countered, her voice rising to match his.

"I didn't want to come here, my mother made me. The only thing I'm doing here is obeying her wishes."

"Well if you accepted help, then maybe you'd be less miserable."

"What do you know about 'accepting help' and being 'less miserable' when all you do is walk around like a fucking zombie?" screamed Malfoy.

"I" Hermione began, but then she realized she had nothing to counter his remark. She didn't know about accepting help or being less miserable. In fact, she couldn't tell who was worse off between her and Malfoy. Maybe she wasn't in any sort of position to be offering help or giving orders. The thought chastised her, and her shoulders slumped in the realization that Malfoy, of all people, could see through her carefully crafted, and not especially effective, facade. Hermione sunk into one of the couches and began to cry. Malfoy made a sudden movement, as if he intended to approach her and grip her hand, but caught himself and just stood, watching her.

It was this scene that Harry, Ron, and Dean walked in on.

"Oye!" yelled Ron. "What have you done to her?"

"I haven't done anything!" Malfoy said back, defensively.

"Yeah, I can tell by the way she's crying on the couch." spat back Ron.

"I didn't mean to make her cry." said Malfoy sheepishly.

"Oho!" yelled Ron in triumph. "So you _did_ make her cry."

"I- whatever. I don't care." said Malfoy before storming out of the common room and slamming the door on his way out.

During Ron and Malfoy's argument, Harry had already crouched next to Hermione, and had asked her what was wrong.

"No-nothing, Harry." Hermione choked out between sobs.

"Come off it, Hermione!" said Harry gently. "You can tell me."

Hermione winced as she heard Malfoy slam the door, before looking down into Harry's eyes. "I just told him to go see McGonagall so he could see Snape's memories, to help him understand. He didn't know about Snape, and I told him in DADA. That's why he was so upset."

"Well how did you get from that to you crying on the couch?" questioned Harry, confused.

"We got into an argument, he said that I'm miserable and walk around like a zombie... and he's right."

A few more tears leaked out of Hermione's eyes, and Harry pulled himself up on the couch so that he could give her a hug.

"It's all right, Hermione. Things will get better."

In truth, Harry didn't know what to say, but he thought he might as well be encouraging. "Let's go to lunch, how about?"

"Okay" said Hermione gingerly.

Together, the four Gryffindors made their way to the Great Hall, completely oblivious to the Slytherin watching them from an alcove in the hallway.

*

Draco watched the Gryffindors go into the Great Hall before he went back into the common room and threw himself on a couch.

Draco hated himself. He hated this place, he hated being here, he hated not having any friends. The one thing his mother had told him to do, to be civil and try to get along with Potter and his friends, seemed impossible. Especially now, when he'd made Granger cry by so thoughtlessly insulting her. How was anyone supposed to give him and his mother a break if he continued to act like the biggest prat that had ever walked the face of the earth?

Draco didn't fancy going to his remaining two classes, and thought it was about time to write another letter to his mother, so he reached into his school bag and pulled out a quill, some ink, and a parchment.

_Dear Narcissa, _

_Life at Hogwarts continues to be challenging. I tried to be civil towards the Gryffindors that I live with, and it seemed alright at first, but I've gone and buggered it up by making Granger cry. It's a bit of a long story, but I essentially called her out on being miserable, but pretending she's not so that she can tell me how to live my life. _

_Granger told me something today that I can't believe is true, and I need to ask you to be honest with me. Was Snape really on their side? She says that he was in love with Lily Potter, and that when he started plotting to kill her, Snape switched sides and became a spy for Dumbledore. _

_Granger told me I should go talk to Professor McGonagall so that she will show me the memories that Snape left to Harry in the last moments of his life. Apparently it explains everything. _

_I just don't understand how Snape came to kill Dumbledore. I thought that was all my fault. Granger says that Dumbledore and Snape had a deal or something. I don't understand, and I can't accept it. _

_Was he really a spy? Why didn't you tell me before you sent me here? _

_Should I accept help and guidance from McGonagall? I'm loathe to, she's a batty old women who espouses the views of Gryffindor obnoxiously. I don't know what to do. _

_Yours faithfully, _

_Draco_

He signed and sealed his letter, and made his way up to the astronomy tower. Again, he called down to a school owl, bade it to deliver his letter, and watched as it flew into the sky.

Draco knew he should apologize to Granger, but he didn't want to. He now dreaded his next DADA class more than ever. It was going to be incredibly awkward. Well, more than it was going to be already.

He decided, then, to go to the library and start writing his first essay. At least he'd come prepared to the class. Maybe Granger would have just forgiven him by then. Gryffindor were always doing irritating things like that, forgiving you when you hadn't said you were sorry. Though, in this circumstance, Draco wasn't sure that he could find that behaviour so annoying.

After what seemed like hours in the library, Draco looked over his now-finished essay. He nodded with satisfaction and folded it up, placing it and his other belongings in his bag before he stood up and started to make his way out of the library.

Draco was not at all looking where he was going, and walked straight into someone whose face was obscured by the pile of books they were carrying.

As Draco hit them, the books all went tumbling to the floor. Draco quickly bent down to help pick them up, and started to say he was sorry when he looked up and a pair of hazel eyes with flecks of gold looked back at him.

His "sorry" got caught in his throat and came out as an unintelligible gargle.

Draco stood up and handed the books back to Hermione, her face becoming obscured again. Draco thought this would be an excellent time to apologize, he couldn't even see her, and that would make him feel all the better about it.

"I'm sorry about, uh, before, Granger." Draco was not at all used to admissions of guilt, and the act of doing so caused him to blush severely.

"I've already forgiven you."

"Right." said Draco before he swiftly made his way out of the library and into the corridor. If only he'd been able to see the face that had been hidden by the books, he would've seen that she was blushing furiously too.

* * *

**Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! Thanks especially to **Kermit304** who is a constant and faithful reviewer. I hope you guys enjoyed this latest chapter! **


	12. After the Fight

**Not mine, borrowed from JK Rowling. You know the drill. **

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

On the morning of the next Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Draco woke with a start. Though the sting of what had occurred between Hermione and himself had begun to fade, he still felt very much embarrassed. Particularly because Hermione had the audacity of a typical Gryffindor and had forgiven him before he'd even apologized. That was a trait he'd never understand.

Draco dressed swiftly, careful not to disturb the others still abed, and headed out into the common room. He absentmindedly walked towards one of the armchairs, but stopped short. There, nestled in the cushions, was Hermione. Fast asleep. Draco was shocked and appalled when he noted that his first reaction to this was not disdain, or even discomfort. His first reaction was somewhat wistful and pleased. He couldn't help but see how peaceful she looked, without all the anxiety etched into her face. She looked younger, calmer, and beautiful. Draco shook his head to clear it and stormed out of the common room and into the hallway. How dare she trick him like that! How dare she look so... adorable! Bile burned at the back of his throat. This was completely wrong. Slytherin men did **not** find Gryffindor women attractive or even tolerable. He was shameful.

For what seemed like the millionth time, Draco walked into the dining hall earlier than every other student in the castle. The food wasn't even close to being served, and yet he preferred to be here alone than to be alone somewhere else, where some other wayward wanderer might run into him. As he sat, a lone owl flew in through the open window near the ceiling and descended towards him.

After giving the owl a thank you in the form of a rub behind it's feathery ears, Draco tore open what he knew to be his mother's reply.

Dearest Draco,

I'm not surprised to hear that things are not yet easy-going at Hogwarts. I suggest that you try to make it up to Ms. Granger if you have any hope of maintaining a level of respect and civility with the rest of the group. This, I'm sure, you already know, and have hopefully already had the courage to do.

I know this may be incredibly hard for you to hear, but Snape was what Ms. Granger says he was. He fell in love with Lily Potter when they were children, and when her safety was threatened because of her son, Snape felt that he had no choice but to try and protect her. He never forgave himself for that failure, even though it was not his own.

I didn't tell you because I didn't think you needed to know. I also wasn't and am not aware of the particulars of his arrangement with Dumbledore, but I do know, as you do, that you did not kill your former Headmaster. Don't force yourself to accept guilt for an act you did not commit.

I do know that I had a deal with him. He made the unbreakable vow to protect you. He agreed to carry out your task if you found that you could not, and to ensure your safety while you tried. I'm sure Dumbledore knew of this as well. Please do not be angry at me for making this deal. I had to do what I could to protect you. It is the instinct of a loving parent to keep their child as safe as they can be, even if it may cost others dearly.

I think that if you have unanswered questions, taking advantage of the offer that has been made to you would be a wise idea. However, I expect you to treat Headmistress McGonagall with respect, she would be doing you a great favor. You are already indebted to her for your acceptance back to Hogwarts. You would do well to remember that.

I'm sorry that this has been so hard for you. I'm sorry that I kept things from you, but know that everything I've done, I've done out of love for you.

Your loving mother,  
Narcissa

Draco stared at the letter for some time after he had finished it. How could all of this be true? How could Granger have been so right about everything?

How could his mother suggest that he acknowledge his debt to McGonagall, and accept her help a second time? Had she no thought for his dignity?

Draco smiled grimly. He supposed that neither of them had much in the way of dignity anymore.

*

Hermione awoke to a grey sky. The sun had not fully risen, and the whole world had taken on an ashy hue. Today was the first DADA class since her confrontations and apologies with Malfoy. Her stomach clenched and unclenched itself, nervous for the class to come.

As Hermione got dressed for the day, much earlier than she needed to, she felt the quakes of anxiety run through her body. Since the war, even the slightest of uncomfortable situations caused her to become shaky and weak, and prone to crying.

Hermione grabbed a book that she was reading for class, and headed into the common room. If she was awake this early, she may as well study, right?

* * *

I appologize profusely for the fact that I have abandoned and ignored this story for two months. I'm a horrible, horrible person. An abusive author! I've probably alienated all of my followers.

If you are still bearing with me, I apologize for the short chapter, but I intend to be a more faithful updater from this point forward. Who knew working two jobs plus school would be such a nightmare?


	13. The Build Up

**You know the drill, I don't own any of these characters or this world. **

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Hermione was roused from her sleep by the voices of Harry and Ron, getting slowly louder as they walked into the common room. She looked up groggily and smiled weakly at them. "Morning, boys."

They both smiled back at back at her in a form of greeting. Their amusement at finding her asleep, covered in books, was evident.

"Come on, Hermione." said Harry. "Let's all get some breakfast."  
When Hermione walked into the Dining Hall, she immediately noticed that Draco was already seated at the Slytherin table, already well into his meal. Hermione blushed, she realized that this meant that Draco had past her in the morning when he left. The thought of him seeing her asleep and vulnerable made her very uncomfortable. She cast her eyes down to her knees, and started fidgeting with her cutlery as the boys and her sat at the table.

Ron and Harry exchanged knowing glances. When Hermione fidgeted, when she showed that she was nervous, it did not bode well. Since the war, any real outward signs of her being uncomfortable early in the day usually meant that she was going to have some kind of panic attack later on, when whatever was stressing her became too much to endure with the passing hours.

Hermione chewed her lip as she thought of what, or more accurately who, she would have to face in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She and Draco had barely exchanged glances let alone words since their last altercation. The prospect of speaking to him again, especially since their DADA classes were becoming steadily more personal, was terribly frightening. She cringed inwardly. She didn't want to tell him anything, give him any sort of knowledge or power over her. She sulked through the whole meal, responding to Harry and Ron in one word answers.

After they finished their meal, they got up to go to their first class. Harry circled the edge of the table and met Hermione before she stood up. When she did, he put a protective arm around her. Hermione leaned into him gratefully.

"Be strong, you can get through today." Harry whispered to her.

Ron walked on the other side of Hermione, and pat her awkwardly on the back, attempting to show support

Hermione nodded meekly back at Harry, smiled briefly at Ron, and the three Gryffindors made their way out of the Dining Hall.

*

Draco Malfoy was livid. How dare Potter and Weasley put their hands on Hermione!

Draco Malfoy was shocked and appalled. What should he care if her two best friends touched her. Why should that bother him at all? Why should he even notice?

Why was there the burning, sickening sensation of jealousy in his stomach?

All of these less-than-hostile thoughts that he was having towards Granger were far to unusual for comfort. He should hate her and everything she represented, not get jealous when other men touched her. Not think she was pretty when she was sleeping.

Begrudgingly, Draco headed off to class. His dread for what the afternoon would hold growing with every step.

Once Draco had settled in to History of Magic, in the back of the classroom, as usual, his thoughts began to drift.

Draco hadn't really had time to think about their last meeting. He had been much too preoccupied with the aftermath of it, and so it was only now that he realized that Granger hadn't said a thing about what had happened to her in the war. He had practically told her his life story, a condensed one, yes, but still he had opened up to her more than he had to, well, anyone. Possibly ever.

And the bitch had said nothing back! She addressed his situation, and it had all gone to hell from there. Well, he smirked, she would have to tell him everything now! The first essay was due toda-. Shit. Fuck. No, no, no, no. He had completely forgotten that Longbottom had said that the first essay was due today. He was nowhere near finished! He'd have to skip class and lunch and write it before DADA. If he didn't have an essay there was no way in Hogwarts that Hermione would let him read hers. That and he didn't want to give Longbottom the satisfaction of being able to reprimand him.

Once again, Hermione did not take notes in History of Magic. This was starting to concern Harry and Ron deeply, how where they to pass if they didn't have Hermione's notes to read from?

Instead, Hermione's mind drifted to the DADA class and the essays that they'd have to writ-. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Hermione's eyes widened with horror. She had forgotten to write her first essay, and it was due today. This wasn't how she operated! She never forgot to write an essay!

What was worse, Malfoy would get to read this essay. She hastily pulled parchments and her ink and quill out of her bag and began to scribble furiously.

Ron and Harry smiled, Hermione was taking notes! At least they thought she was.

Draco ran to the library right after History of Magic ended, he found a secluded desk, threw his bag down, and began to write his essay.

Draco had already written about 4 inches worth of his essay when he heard a muffled "oh," and the scuffling of footsteps.

He looked up to see a very haggard looking Hermione clutching scrolls of parchment, staring at him with surprise.

"Sorry!" she chirped. "I just sit here sometimes, I'll, I'll go."

Hermione turned to walk away, but Malfoy called out to her.

"No, it's okay. I'm going to be learning incredibly personal things about you in a matter of time, you may as well get used to my presence."

Hermione looked at him wide-eyed. He seemed entirely too interested in her "personal things."

"O-Okay," she stuttered, and haphazardly sat down.

The next hour was very, very awkward. They didn't say a word, but occasionally caught the quick, furtive glances that they intermittently threw each other. Their second morning class had passed. More furtive glances, more silence. Lunch had begun. Lunch had ended. They both started to get up and prepared to head to their DADA class. They both prepared to share their essays with one another.

As they stood, their eyes locked. They stood there, staring at each other for what seemed like hours. Judging each other, gauging the other one's attitude. Hermione's gaze was defensive. Malfoy's was curious. Suddenly, as if a spell was lifted, they broke their eye contact and rummaged with their things before silently heading off to the same classroom.

*  
"Those two are going to fall in love," said Luna softly, to herself. She had been sitting in the squishy arm chair in the corner of the library, and she had watched them for two hours. There was so much tension in the air, it was fascinating. The two of them were so wrapped up in whatever they were doing they hadn't even noticed her.

Luna smiled dreamily and absent-mindedly walked off to find Ginny. Luna thought Ginny would find this revelation extremely interesting. Ginny was always interested in who liked who, Luna acknowledged, and what better than a forbidden romance between Lion and Snake? She giggled to herself, ignoring the glare and "Shh!" that issued from Madam Pince as she passed her by.


	14. The First Essay (Part 1)

**You know the drill - not mine. **

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Everyone entered the DADA classroom to find it had been rearranged. There were comfortable arm chairs, set out in pairs, each with a coffee table in between. Neville greeted them and instructed each pair to take a seat.

Hermione and Draco walked towards the chairs that were closest to the back of the classroom and sat down. Hermione pulled her essay out of bag, and placed it on her lap. Draco made no move to take out his essay just yet.

"Good afternoon, everyone. As you know, today we will be sharing our first essays with our partners today." Neville began. Draco scoffed, it was as though Longbottom thought they were children.

"Now, if there are no questions, it is time to begin."

And with that, everyone turned to their partner. Handing someone an essay about your life in the war is no easy task for anyone, but no one, it seemed, had quite as difficult a time as Hermione and Draco.

Hermione looked at Draco shyly.

"Come on Granger, time to hand it over."

Hermione continued to look straight ahead at him.

"Granger, let's go."

She stopped looking at him, and instead looked at her knees while she passed him her parchment. Draco replaced it with his essay, and then began to read what Hermione had written.

_Last Year _  
_Hermione Granger _

_Last summer, Harry, Ron, and I had to go on a search for Voldemort's horcruxes. With Dumbledore dead, we had almost nothing to go on, but we thought Dumbledore had at least prepared Harry. We were unhappy to discover that that wasn't the case. Harry had just as much to go on as we did, and the strain of living on the run with poor food supplies and no information, completely cut off from our world, took its toll on all of us. _  
_Before we left I had no to choice but to obliviate my parents. They were in too much danger, some death eater would have found them and killed them. Or would have used them to get to me, and through me, Harry. I made them forget who I was and I sent them to Australia to be happy and safe there. They'd have no knowledge of the wizarding world, and I wouldn't have to think of protecting them or be moved to check up on them. _  
_It's very hard to come to terms with the fact that your own parents don't know you, care about you, or are even aware that they've had a child. You feel orphaned, not in the same way as someone who has lost their parents, but in a painful way nonetheless because it was by your hand that you've lost them to the world. _  
_The stress of living the way we lived and doing the things we did was extraordinary. We infiltrated the ministry, but were almost caught. Ron got splinched because of me and I was worried he was going to die. Maybe not from the wound itself, but from infection from not being able to access an actual MediWizard. Trying to find clues about where the other horcruxes were and what they would look like. Constantly evading death eaters and snatchers. It's the kind of living that tears you apart because you're so beyond stressed and so beyond tired that you can't even think straight. _  
_Not long after we began our search, Ron left us. He was tired, he felt hopeless, and he missed and worried about his family too often. He became paranoid that I loved Harry and not him — something that wasn't true. And then he left us. He did return to us a few months later, but when he left, he took part of me with him, a part of me I don't think I've ever really gotten back. _  
_We were eventually caught, as you no doubt remember, and I was tortured. The scar is still there, they say it will never go away. I can always feel it on me, its like some permanent poison that has latched on to me. _  
_Then there was the final battle. We lost so many friends, we lost so much family, but we won. The relief that I expected to come with the victory never really arrived. We mourned and then we celebrated, but I didn't feel whole. _  
_I went to Australia to get my parents back, but they're gone forever. I brought someone from St Mungo's with me, and they said that either my charm was too powerful to be reversed, or that something had gone wrong. Either way, I'd lost them forever. _  
_Ron and I broke up shortly after that. He didn't understand why I was so sad all the time, he didn't understand that the war still affected me. That was something that our relationship couldn't withstand, so it faded away and our friendship is still not what it used to be. _  
_Now I'm at school. I don't care about my schooling anymore. I've seen the end of the world, I've seen the very worst of humanity and I've lost almost everything I've ever had, and I don't think that History of Magic is relevant to me anymore. I just can't focus anymore and I don't want to. The war is over, but I don't feel like it's finished with my life, there's still so much that has been destroyed. That was my year. _

Draco read through Hermione's essay hungrily. He'd never heard her be so open about herself before, though this didn't surprise him, considering that they weren't exactly friends. His heart sunk when he finished. She'd lost not one but both of her parents. Parents who loved her, who weren't death eaters, who had never shared a home with Voldemort, unlike his father. In many ways, it was better that he'd lost his father. For Hermione, he observed, this was not the case. He derived a strange sort of pleasure from reading about her relationship with Ron. He imagined Weasley's ears would permanently redden if he ever thought that Draco had heard about the former relationship.

Draco considered the scar that Bellatrix had left on Hermione, when a crazy idea struck him. It was an incredibly long shot, but if he wrote to his mother... maybe she would know what it was, and maybe there was a counterspell. He wouldn't breathe a word of this plan to Hermione, knowing she would be embarrassed and unenthused, and some part of him didn't want to get her hopes up if it all came to nothing. Part of him also couldn't admit that he was feeling compassionate for his once least-favorite Gryffindor, let alone helping her. He looked up at Hermione to see that she was still reading his essay and he smiled to himself, pleased with his resourceful plan.


End file.
